


Desperate Measures

by 427-67Impala (australis86)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, M/M, Original Character(s), Suicide Attempt, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-07
Updated: 2012-07-08
Packaged: 2017-11-09 10:04:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 39,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/454257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/australis86/pseuds/427-67Impala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winchester boys are closer than most brothers, but even Dean has to draw the line somewhere, and dating his baby brother is a step too far. Now, with Mary & Jess dead and John MIA, Sam is totally alone - he's just lost his big brother too, the last person in his life he really cares about, and is prepared to do whatever it takes to try and make the pain stop.<br/>Angsty Wincesty goodness with graphic sexual content (including Sam/OMC) and suicide themes. Complete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _Word count:_ 39,683  
>  _Setting:_ Early season 1
> 
> This one was written for the 2012 SPN/J2 Big Bang on LiveJournal. Accompanying art was done by the lovely and talented [beautiful_crow](http://beautiful-crow.livejournal.com/). :)  
> This fic is built around the events of season 1, from the aftermath of _Skin_ through to _Asylum_ , which is where things start to get a little 'different'.

 

_Burlington, Iowa_

"You're not going anywhere, Dean. Stay inside so the good, law-abiding citizens of Iowa don't see you and report us both to America's Most Wanted."

From his seat on the too-soft motel couch, Dean resisted the urge to poke his tongue out at Sam. "Just go already, would you? I'm  _starving_."

"I'm serious. Stay inside." Sam warned, but Dean just waved a dismissive hand at his baby brother and focused back on the laptop in front of him. He didn't see Sam roll his eyes as he went out the door.

"And don't forget the beer!" Dean called after him, and grinned as Sam called back something impolite. The lock clicked as he pulled the door shut behind him, probably slightly harder than was strictly necessary, and a few seconds later the Impala roared to life and pealed out onto the street.

Despite appearances, Dean knew Sam was right. After that debacle in St. Louis his police sketch was all over the news, even in the adjoining states. Being a dead ringer for a recently-deceased serial killer would definitely get the attention of the local Five-0.

Dean being held on murder charges would severely restrict the Winchester boys' ability to find their dad, so with a view to avoiding such an inconvenience, they'd put St. Louis in their rear-view mirror as soon as the Shifter was dead and they had made sure Becky was okay. They drove all day and into the night, putting as many miles as possible between themselves and Dean's doppelganger, only stopping well over the Iowa state line when both had been too tired to drive any further.

That had been nearly four days ago, and the heat was finally dying off. The story had disappeared from the papers and the local news bulletins weren't even showing his police sketch anymore. This was a good thing, because Dean was starting to go a little stir crazy. He'd spent those three-and-a-bit days shut inside their shoebox of a room, hidden way in the back of an equally tiny motel that was as far away from the main roads as they could get, and had well and truly run out of things to do.

After cleaning every weapon they owned, casting more silver bullets to replace the ones they'd used on the Shifter, going through John's journal with a fine-tooth comb (again) and exhausting the motel's pay-per-view menu (let's face it, there's only so much  _Casa Erotica_  one guy can watch), Dean had even resorted to trying a few of Sam's books. But  _To Kill a Mockingbird_  just didn't do it for him, and staring at the faded floral wallpaper got old real fast, so he now found himself playing around on Sam's laptop.

Dean sat on the edge of the couch with the laptop open on the coffee table and beer in hand as he scrolled through Sam's obsessively organised digital photos, looking through his brother's other life at Stanford. There were photos from a few parties, random places around what looked like the Stanford campus, some football and baseball games, and from a sightseeing trip into San Francisco. But mostly, the photos were of the same small group of people. He saw Becky and Zach in a lot of them, but apart from those two and Sam and Jess, he didn't recognise anyone.

The thing that really struck him about the pictures was that there were a  _ton_  of Sam and Jess together. Dean found that kind of sad, because they looked really happy. The thought that the thing that killed their mom had taken  _this_  from Sam as well…

Dean heard a crunching sound, and was surprised to find he was unconsciously crushing the nearly-empty beer can in his left hand.

Sam might not remember Mary, but Dean did; he knew what Sam had lost that night in his nursery, even if his little brother didn't. And as if that wasn't bad enough, now that monster had to take his  _girlfriend_  too…?

He drained the remaining beer from the mangled can and tossed it a few feet through the air and into the kitchen sink, where it landed with a metallic clatter, then turned back to the laptop with a sigh. He was starting to feel the need for something stronger than beer.

Dean clicked through to another folder, containing some older pictures. He still saw some familiar faces, but Jess wasn't there - looking at the dates on the photos, and counting the months off on his fingers, he realised that was because Sam hadn't met her yet. He would only have been in his second semester when most of them were taken. Zach and Becky were still there, but a few different guys were showing up that weren't in the later pictures. There were maybe three or four different young men that Dean could identify - all were tall, tanned and athletic, and looked about the same age as Sam.

"Maybe Sammy joined the soccer team." Dean smiled to himself, scrolling down further. Sam looked like he was close to these guys - they were always smiling, and he often had an arm around their shoulders, or them around his. Good friends, by the look of it.

 _It's nice that Sam had friends,_  Dean decided, ignoring the small twinge of jealousy that stabbed at his gut. The kid had always been something of a loner, and it was good to see him doing the social thing. Really it was.

Just because Dean hadn't ever quite managed to get away from their dad and do it himself didn't mean he couldn't be happy for his baby brother - the fact that it all came crashing down so spectacularly brought him no joy. He loved being on the road with Sam, but he'd give anything for his baby brother to have that 'normal' again.

"Oh yeah. Definitely haven't had enough to drink yet." Dean groaned, looking wistfully at the fridge. The can he'd thrown into the sink was the last one, and he'd have to wait until Sam got back with a fresh six-pack, so he went back to the laptop and opened the next folder. He was getting deep into the maze that was Sam's organisation system, and this one was buried under a few layers of other folders.

When the image previews loaded, Dean's heart nearly stopped. "Holy…" he breathed, blinking a few times as he stared at the screen. He knew immediately, without a shadow of a doubt, that Sam wouldn't want him to see these photos.

There weren't many - all the thumbnails fit on one screen - but there didn't need to be. Dean had found a folder of pictures (and even some  _videos_ ) of his baby brother with other guys.  _With_  them. In the Biblical sense.

Dean sat heavily back in the quicksand-soft cushions of the couch, staring at the screen, and rubbed at his mouth with one hand while his brain ground its gears and tried to make sense of what he was looking at.

"How the hell did I miss this?" he asked the empty room, and ran a hand back through his hair as he unconsciously chewed on his lower lip.

Dean  _knew_  his little brother. They'd lived in each other's pockets basically their entire lives - he knew Sam as well as he knew himself. Or at least, he  _thought_ he did. He'd never even seen Sam look twice at another guy, and-

There was a shocked gasp from behind him, and Dean leapt up off the couch like it had bitten him. He spun to see Sam standing there, clutching takeaway noodle boxes and the promised six-pack, with a look of absolute horror on his face.

Dean held his hands up, palms out, in a placating gesture. "Sam, it's all right-" he began, but Sam cut him off mid-sentence.

"This is  _not_  all right, Dean!" Red patches bloomed high on the younger Winchester's cheeks, a mixture of anger and embarrassment.

_I didn't want him to find out this way!_

Hell, Sam wasn't sure he wanted Dean to find out at  _all_. But, now that he had, Sam wasn't sure how to react. He thought he should probably be angry Dean was looking through his photos, or even embarrassed at the contents of the ones he'd seen, but mostly… mostly, he just felt sick.

He turned away and dropped the food and beer onto the kitchen table, and Dean saw his shoulders rise and fall as he took some long, deep, and slightly shaky breaths. Wisely, he let Sam take a few of those before he tried again. This time though, acutely aware of how big a deal this must be for his little brother, he made a conscious effort to choose his words more carefully.

"I'm sorry." he said, simply, and Sam tensed. That wasn't what he'd been expecting. He took one more deep breath and turned slowly back to face Dean, his expression tense and unreadable.

Dean fought the urge to avoid Sam's gaze, but he needn't have bothered. The younger Winchester looked away after only a few seconds, preferring to stare at the sand-coloured linoleum of the kitchen floor instead. Dean wouldn't have been surprised if he'd started nervously scuffing at the floor with the toe of his shoe - he looked like a kid that had been called to the principal's office and was about to get told off.

"These are your photos, and I shouldn't be digging through them. I just wanted to know what life was like for you at Stanford, you know? You don't really talk about it, and I was kinda curious…" Dean trailed off, brow furrowed as he studied Sam. He looked like he was wishing for a hole to open up in the floor beneath his feet and swallow him.

"So now you know." Sam said quietly, steeling himself for Dean's response. His heart was racing in his chest, and the room suddenly felt extremely small and confined. If the floor had indeed split open and swallowed him whole, he would have welcomed it.

"Yeah… now I know." Dean breathed, and then scrubbed a hand over his mouth as he tried to work out what to say. His brain had been quick enough to recognise what the damn photos meant, but now it couldn't come up with anything halfway intelligent to say about it…?

"Sam-"

"Dean-"

They both spoke at the same time, then stopped. Dean furrowed his brow, watching Sam still studying the linoleum; his whole body was tense and he looked like he was waiting for someone to punch him in the gut.

_Like his big brother is about to disown him or something._

Dean wanted to kick himself for not working it out sooner. Suddenly, he knew exactly what to say.

"It's okay, Sam." he said, before the younger Winchester could get another word out. Sam's head snapped up, and Dean was taken aback - even a little hurt - by the look of surprise on his face.

 _Did he really think I'd turn my back on him just because of_ this _?_

"Look, I don't care what your deal is. Guys, girls, sock puppets - do whatever or whoever makes you happy, man." Dean told him, with what he hoped was a reassuring little smile.

Sam just stared with wide eyes, absorbing that. "You don't mind?" he asked, still a little wary.

"I don't  _get_  to mind, Sammy. It's your life." Dean told him, and his face broke out into a genuine smile when he saw the anxiety disappear from Sam's expression. All the tension melted from the younger Winchester's body, and he actually breathed a sigh of relief.

Dean took that as a cue to end the chick-flick moment, and busied himself putting the beer away in their little fridge.

Sam sank into one of the kitchen chairs and watched, wordlessly taking the bottle his big brother handed him. A relieved little smile touched the corners of his mouth as he twisted the cap off with a slightly shaky hand, and he felt his heart rate slowing as Dean sat opposite him.

"So what happened, man? I mean, the few dates you actually  _went_  on, I remember them being girls." Dean said, taking the cardboard noodle box and plastic cutlery his little brother handed him.

Sam retrieved his own food and utensils before he replied, considering his answer. "Well, when I got away from Dad and hunting and all that crap and I finally had some space to think, I learned a few things about myself." he said slowly, and Dean quirked an eyebrow.

"So you weren't always…?" He waved a hand vaguely in the air, obviously fishing for the correct term.

"I'm bisexual, Dean." Sam supplied, with a small smile, and Dean nodded.

"So you weren't always bi, then? What're they teaching at this college?" he joked, and Sam laughed. It felt good, knowing Dean was okay enough with this to start making jokes.

"Well, I didn't just  _turn_  bi, if that's what you're asking. I just never had a chance to be before, I think - the way we lived kind of smothered everything under a blanket." Sam said, taking a long pull of his beer. This was going really well and all, but he still  _really_  wanted a drink.

Dean glanced up at him, frowning slightly. "You felt smothered? Dude, we're the freest people I know." he replied, opening his container of Singapore noodles.

Now it was Sam's turn to frown. "Maybe  _you_  are, but I couldn't do  _anything,_  Dean - I had to fight Dad to even finish high school." He tapped his unopened package of plastic cutlery restlessly on the table as he spoke, some of the earlier tension returning to his voice. "Every spare minute I had was spent rushing through homework, training, or sleeping. I went straight from my textbooks to the frigging firing range, then back again. When did I have time to date anyone - girls  _or_  guys?"

"Hey, I did all right." Dean protested, his tone defensive.

"Yeah, but you dropped out, remember?" Sam reminded him, pointedly.

Dean gave a conciliatory nod, but didn't reply - they both knew he'd dropped out because school was getting in the way of hunting. He gave up on the whole 'normal' thing fairly early on, but Sam had stubbornly kept an iron grip on it. Dean knew it made things harder on him, but he never imagined Sam felt so stifled that he couldn't even explore his own sexuality, and he felt sorry for the kid. No matter how you sliced it, that wasn't fair.

"And anyway, even if I _was_  attracted to other guys, it wasn't like we weren't different enough already. Why pile on one more thing, you know?" Sam went on, and sighed as he opened his container of chicken pad thai.

For once, Dean didn't argue with him - he could understand that, he supposed, so he decided to cut Sam some slack and stop pressing the issue. He also suspected, just quietly, that this might go a long way to explaining some of the Sam/John tension; but their childhood dramas weren't really the point of this conversation, so he didn't bring it up. There was quite enough deep-seated drama unfolding as it was, as far as he was concerned.

Sam looked up from his dinner, surprised that Dean wasn't continuing the argument. "Nothing to add?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

"I knew I had it easier than you, but I didn't think you felt so trapped." Dean said, with a shrug, and Sam only just managed to stop his mouth from literally dropping open as he stared in amazement.

_Dean is letting me have this one. He never does that!_

"Uh - thanks. I, um, appreciate that." Sam blinked, and had to think for a second to remember what he'd been saying. "Well, anyway, when I was on my own I got the chance to be  _me_ , finally. Not Samuel Winchester, hunter, whose mother was murdered by a monster. Just Sam. A normal college guy." He shrugged, unwrapping his plastic knife and fork. "For a while, anyway."

"Okay, so tell me - how does Sam the Normal Guy wind up dating other normal guys?" Dean asked lightly, stabbing his fork into the tightly-packed noodles.

That got a little smile from Sam - he was a pain in the ass sometimes, but as big brothers went, Dean could also be pretty awesome. He was putting some obvious effort into making this whole conversation as easy as possible.

In the back of his mind, Sam knew he shouldn't really be so surprised. Dean had never shown the slightest hint of homophobia, but it was still a big deal to come out to your older brother - however it happened. Now that he knew, and Sam knew he was okay with it, it was like a physical weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

_God, it's a relief to be able to talk to Dean about this._

"Well, one night I was having beers with Tyler - a friend of Becky's - and he was telling me how he'd just broken up with his boyfriend."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

_Palo Alto, California  
2002_

"So he dumped you? Just like that?" Sam asked, incredulously.

"I know, right? Ungrateful bastard left me cold for the guy that sold him his new car." Tyler confirmed, taking another sip of his beer.

"'Cause used car salesmen are _so_  reliable." Sam joked.

That got a laugh from Tyler. "He deserves whatever he gets. Hope the man-stealing asshole runs over his foot." he replied, and Sam chuckled a little himself.

Sam was sitting with Tyler in a little bar just outside Stanford's grounds. It was a warm summer night and they had a booth by a window, where the very last rays of the evening sun filtered in through the abstract stained glass border of the window and laid coloured mosaic lines on the worn tabletop. They'd both already had a few beers, and were getting along like a house on fire.

Sam had only met Tyler the previous weekend, at Zach's birthday party, and when Becky introduced them Sam was slightly surprised to hear Tyler refer to himself as a 'lab rat'. He looked like he should be surfing at Ocean Beach, not doing a science degree - in Sam's opinion, he wasn't nearly pale or indoorsy enough to be a scientist.

Tyler was a native Californian, and tanned a deep golden-brown with a sprinkling of freckles (over great cheekbones, Sam had noted). And besides being a chemistry major, Tyler was an athlete. He was a second-string receiver for Stanford's football team and only an inch or so shorter than Sam, with short, dark blonde hair, and eyes such a light brown they were the colour of honey in the dusky evening light.

"So are _you_  seeing anyone, Sam?" Tyler asked, peering at the youngest Winchester over the rim of his glass.

Sam, still months away from meeting Jess, shrugged noncommittally. "Nobody at the moment."

That made Tyler raise his eyebrows. "When Becky appeared with you at the party, I figured you two must be together."

"Me and Becky?" Sam choked, and only just managed to avoid spitting out his beer as he laughed. "Nah, we're just friends."

Tyler regarded him sceptically, a small smile touching his mouth. "Guys and girls can't just be friends." he said, knowingly.

"So does that mean you don't have guy friends?" Sam asked, and Tyler paused to think about that for a second.

"I have plenty of male friends," he admitted eventually, "but that's different."

Sam just grinned at him. "It's exactly the same, and you know it. You can have friends that are guys, and I can have friends that are girls." He paused for effect, taking another drink. "For example: Becky."

Tyler's smile widened, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "So guys aren't your thing? That's a shame." As far as he was concerned, it _was_  a shame. Sam was funny, nice, smart… and, of course, gorgeous.

"Honestly, I've never really had a chance to find out what I am." Sam said, slowly, and Tyler raised his eyebrows in genuine surprise.

"How do you get all the way to college and not know which team you're batting for?" he asked. Sam smiled a little, suddenly self-conscious.

_Am I really saying this? I must've drunk more than I thought._

He normally didn't discuss his sexuality with new acquaintances like this, but Tyler was a nice guy - and, if he was honest, Sam couldn't remember the last time he'd known anyone well enough to talk about this stuff anyway. Well, no-one other than Dean.

_And this is not a conversation I want to have with Dean._

"I've moved around a lot - basically my entire life. Never stayed in one place long enough to have a long-term relationship with a girl, let alone a guy." He paused, letting the sentence hang. Tyler noticed his hesitation.

"But there was this one guy…" he supplied, and Sam sighed. There _was_  one guy.

"Yeah. I've known him basically forever." Sam admitted, and Tyler grinned.

"And you like him?"

Sam considered that. "I more than like him." _God, I sound like a freaking schoolgirl._

"What's his name?" Tyler asked, and Sam hesitated briefly. Maybe he should use an alias. But, then again, it wasn't like Tyler was ever going to meet him…

"His name's Dean."

Tyler put his empty glass down and regarded Sam speculatively. "So you like this guy - a lot, I think - but you're not sure you're not straight?" he asked, and Sam nodded. "Well, I've got news for you." he continued, drily.

That got a chuckle from Sam. "I know, that sounds ridiculous. But it's not guys in general - it's just this one. I've noticed other guys on occasion, and maybe I might have wanted something more with a few of them, but the way I feel about Dean… I've only ever felt anything like that for women. And even then…" Sam sighed again. Honestly, he'd never felt quite this way about a woman either.

"Does he know?"

Sam snorted. "No."

"Are you ever gonna tell him…?"

Sam sat back in his seat and chewed on his bottom lip a little. He wanted to tell Dean, but the thought scared him to death. How exactly do you tell your big brother you're in love with him?

The way Sam saw it, if he told Dean how he felt, there were two possible outcomes. First - and most likely - Dean would reply that he'd never thought about his little brother that way, and it would never happen. That would inevitably lead to awkwardness and a permanent split between them, and he didn't want to fracture what he had with Dean.

Second, Dean might say he felt the same way. And that would be awesome. Until it wasn't, and they split up anyway. In Sam's mind, that was the worst-case scenario - being so close to everything he ever wanted, then watching it drive away in a black classic muscle car. He lived in fear that Dean might say no, but in terror that he might say yes.

"It's complicated." he said, eventually, and then it was Tyler's turn to sigh.

"It's always complicated, Sam."

"He's straight." Sam offered, by way of explanation. He sure as hell wasn't going to give him the other reasons.

"You sure about that?" Tyler asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Pretty sure, yeah." Sam replied, regretfully. He'd never seen the slightest hint from Dean that he was interested in anything but women. And he was _very_  interested in those.

"There's only one way to know for sure." Tyler suggested.

Sam shook his head and drained the last of his beer. "Dean doesn't even know I'm attracted to guys." he said.

"If he doesn't know it about you, then maybe you don't know it about him either." Tyler offered.

God, Sam wanted to believe that. "I don't even know if it is  _guys_ , plural. Maybe it's just him." He shrugged, and signalled the waitress for two more beers.

Tyler considered that for a second, and when he eventually spoke he chose his words carefully. "Can I give you some advice?" he asked.

Sam nodded. "You're the only one here with any clue on the subject." he pointed out, smiling a little.

Tyler gave him a little smile back. "You want to know if it's 'guys' in general, or just him?" he began, and Sam nodded again. "Well, seems to me that you're only going to find out if you try another guy." Tyler said, simply.

Sam was somewhat taken aback by that, and Tyler saw it. "Look, man, I didn't mean to offend you or anything-" he started to apologise, but Sam stopped him.

"No, no - it's cool. You're right." Sam was smiling, but Tyler was unconvinced.

"I don't know what came over me. I don't make a habit of giving random guys advice on their love lives. I mean, I've known you for like a week." He blushed a little, looking horrified that the words had actually come out of his mouth. The rosy tint in his cheeks made his freckles stand out.

Sam held up a calming hand. "No, you're totally right, man," he repeated. "I've never done - it - with a guy; not even anything approaching that. I don't even know what I'm talking about, really."

Even as he was saying the words, Sam's mind was ticking over, thinking it through. He thought he knew where Tyler wanted to go with this. He'd been fishing for clarification on Sam's sexuality when they'd been talking 'girls and guys can't be just friends', and he'd obviously been a little disappointed when Sam had confirmed girls were his thing.

And he had made a good point, after all. Sam had been attracted to a few guys before, and the only way to find out if he wanted to go there - all the way there - was to give it a try.

_And I could always pretend it's Dean..._

The only thing was, Sam liked Tyler and he wasn't sure he should risk wrecking any potential friendship they might have by 'trying' him out.

Despite Sam's good-natured response to his 'advice', Tyler resolutely steered the conversation away from the jagged reef that was the topic of Sam's sexuality for the rest of the night. They stayed another couple of hours at the bar, eventually leaving after 10pm.

It was still warm outside when they left, which probably accounted for all the people still on the street. There were so many of them out enjoying the balmy evening that it felt more like a Friday night than a Wednesday. Tyler had promised to lend Sam a textbook, so the youngest Winchester and his new buddy made the short walk to Tyler's frat house just off-campus.

As they walked up to the Theta Delta Chi house, Sam noted that they didn't put nearly as much thought in to the student housing as they did the university itself - there were no ivy-covered walls or elegant sandstone arches here. It was a nice old weatherboard house, like all the other nice old weatherboard houses one finds in California. The only indication of its fraternity connection was the sign out front displaying three Greek letters - which was, oddly, draped in multicoloured streamers.

"Those streamers are leftovers from the mixer on the weekend." Tyler explained, as they walked up the path to the front door. The place was quieter than Sam expected, and when Tyler unlocked the door, it was also tidier than a frat house had any right to be.

"I know, everyone's surprised the place isn't an alcohol-soaked, vermin-ridden den of iniquity." Tyler grinned. "That's a weekend thing." he added, starting up the stairs.

Sam laughed and followed him past a series of closed doors bearing names and message boards for their occupants. Strains of Led Zeppelin drifted out from behind one, while at the next door he recognised the squealing tyres and gunfire of Grand Theft Auto.

Tyler's room was at the end of the hall. There was a cork message board here too, and his nametag was stuck on the door under another one that read 'Steven'. Tyler saw Sam raise an eyebrow.

"I know. Someone thought it'd be funny to stick us in the same room. Neither of us have his lips, unfortunately." he quipped. Sam smiled, but not at the joke. Dean had lips like that.

"Is Steven going to mind me turning up here this late on a weeknight?" he asked, as Tyler opened the door. The room was relatively neat and tidy, if a little small, and filled to the brim with a combination of wooden furniture approximately as old as the house, alongside newer IKEA-vintage pieces.

There were two single beds, a couple of desks, and some bookshelves occupying most of the floor space by the walls, plus a comfortable-looking easy chair by one of the two open windows. The place could have benefited from a vacuum cleaner and a little dusting, but overall, it was nicer than a lot of the motels Sam had stayed in over the years. It even had an air conditioner, which Tyler turned on as he walked past it.

"Steve's house-sitting for the week. Won't be back until Sunday." Tyler bent down and opened a little fridge Sam hadn't noticed - it was almost hidden behind the easy chair - and pulled out a couple of beers. He handed one to Sam, then went over to one of the more severely overloaded bookshelves and started scanning it for the one he wanted.

As he perched on the edge of a table by the door and took a drink from the cold glass bottle, already covered in beads of condensation in the steamy night air, Sam watched Tyler and considered what was happening. This was how almost every hookup he'd ever seen Dean have had started. Well, except for the textbook part.

He liked Tyler, and had spent most of the evening noticing pleasing little things about him. A weird (yet wonderful) sense of humour, the same passion for literature that Sam had (evidenced by the overloaded bookshelves)… His full, soft-looking lips and those warm amber eyes didn't hurt, either, and Sam got the impression he was cut under the worn old Billabong t-shirt. He watched as Tyler reached up to pull a book off the top shelf, the hem of his shirt riding up as he stretched.

_He looks good in those jeans…_

Sam's train of thought was interrupted by Tyler's cry of triumph as he pulled the Spanish textbook down from the top shelf. He blew a thin layer of dust off it, and wiped it clean on said close-fitting jeans as he brought it over to Sam. "One Introductory Spanish textbook, as promised." he said, and handed it over.

"You're sure you don't need that?" Sam asked, looking at the book as he accepted it - except for the fact it was out of its plastic wrapping, it looked brand new.

"Está bien." Tyler waved a hand dismissively, smiling. "I surfed Mexico for six months. I could teach everything that's in this book."

"Maybe you should tutor me." Sam chuckled, not entirely joking. His Spanish wasn't awesome.

Tyler took the textbook and set it down on the table beside Sam. "Spanish isn't the only thing I could help you with." he said, lingering in Sam's personal space for a long moment. Sam immediately grasped his meaning, and sucked in a breath.

Tyler heard the little involuntary gasp, and cringed. "God, I'm sorry, man. I'm just overstepping all kinds of boundaries tonight." He took a couple of steps back, out of Sam's space, running a nervous hand through his sandy hair. Maybe he'd misread the signals - he  _thought_  Sam had caught on before they left the bar. The way he'd seen Sam looking at him… it looked like they were both thinking the same thing.

"No - it's okay. Really." Sam protested, getting up to face him.

Tyler just stared at him in amazement. "Are you the nicest guy on the face of the planet? I've been getting into your business ever since we sat down at the bar, and now you're not upset that-"

"Yes."

"-I'm propositioning you in my fucking  _dorm room_ -" Tyler finally stopped his embarrassment-fuelled ramble and just stared at Sam. "Wait -  _what_?"

"Let's try it." Sam repeated, and Tyler blinked a couple of times.

"Really?" he asked, eyes narrowed as he tried to work out if Sam was yanking his chain.

Sam could see Tyler wasn't sure, and gave him the least-shaky smile he could manage. "I like you. You're a nice guy, and I'm trying to broaden my horizons. Let's do it."

Tyler slowly smiled back, hardly able to believe his luck. "You're sure?" he asked. Sam just nodded, taking in another deep breath. He could feel his heart thudding against his ribcage, hard enough that he wondered briefly if Tyler might actually hear it.

Tyler set his beer down on the table beside the book, then took Sam's beer and did the same. He pushed Sam gently back against the door, his body always close but never touching, and reached down by his right hip and turned the lock on the doorknob. Only when he heard the metallic  _click_  of the pins sliding home did he press right up against the youngest Winchester.

Sam exhaled slowly as he felt Tyler's body against his. Oh yeah - under that t-shirt and jeans, Tyler was  _ripped_.

As Tyler held Sam against the door - gently, trying not to pressure him - he could feel the tension in his new friend. Sam hadn't done this before, and it showed - in his head he had no doubts, but his body hadn't quite gotten the message yet. In the back of his mind he knew he was with another guy, and although it felt good, it was taking the rest of him a while to warm up to the idea after a lifetime of doing this with girls.

 _But that kind of thing is to be expected, right? It's just going to take a little getting used to,_  Sam told himself.

"If you wanna stop, all you gotta do is say so." Tyler breathed, only inches from Sam's left ear. He was starting to get hard - Sam could feel it against his left thigh.

It felt… nice, to have another strong body pressed up against his own, pushing him back against the door, and there was no way Sam wanted out of this. He closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to Tyler's by way of reply.

He immediately kissed back, and it wasn't what Sam expected. His lips were soft and gentle - more so than some of the girls Sam had been with - and he tasted good, too. Like beer and bar nuts. Like Dean did in his dreams.

Sam let out a little sigh as he felt Tyler's tongue pressing at his lips, and opened them to let him in. It was nice, making out with Tyler like this - it was a different feeling than he got when he was with a woman, and he liked… he liked the way…

Sam lost his train of thought as he felt Tyler slide one rough, calloused hand up under his shirt. He sucked in a breath as it ran across his abs and caressed his right side briefly, then the next thing he knew, Tyler had his belt undone and that hand dipped down below his waistband.

Sam almost gasped out loud when Tyler's hand found its way inside his boxers. He had gentle hands for a football player, though, and he felt Tyler's lips turn up into a smile as he started rubbing and stroking, and realised just how much of Sam there was to stroke.

"I hit the jackpot, huh?" Tyler whispered into the kiss, getting a small laugh from Sam. With Tyler's talented fingers now in play, his brain finally got out of the way and it wasn't long before he started to get hard.

He tried to undo Tyler's jeans, but only got as far as loosening his belt before he pressed his hips against Sam's and stopped him. "If you do that, babe, it'll be all over right here." he breathed, lips brushing Sam's. He was smiling, but there was no trace of a joke in his voice.

"Just… let me, okay?" he asked, kissing Sam again, and the younger Winchester moved his hands back to Tyler's hips without protest. That was fine with Sam - there would be plenty of time for that later, because they were  _definitely_  going to do this again. And with Tyler's hand wrapped around his cock, he could hardly think straight anyway.

Tyler pushed Sam gently towards the bed, leaving a trail of their clothes as they went, then gave him a shove and sent him sprawling back onto it with a little grunt of surprise. He started to sit up, but Tyler planted a hand on his chest and pushed him back down.

He lay there and watched Tyler climb on top of him, admiring his athlete's physique as he straddled his hips. Tyler leaned forward to place a kiss on Sam's lips, then another on his chin, more down his neck and his chest, then laying more kisses over his stomach, down over his navel and…

Sam didn't watch at first. He couldn't help but tense a little when he felt Tyler's lips at the top of his left quad, kissing the sensitive skin where his inner thigh met his pelvis. The sensation wasn't any different to when a girl did this to him, but like the kissing earlier, somehow knowing it was another guy _made_  it different.

Tyler noticed him tense, and slowed things down a little to give Sam some time to get comfortable. He continued the line of slow kisses down the inside of his right thigh, then placed half a dozen more up the inside of the left when he felt Sam start to relax.

When he got back to the top and Sam didn't tell him otherwise, Tyler ran his tongue maddeningly slowly along the underside of his cock, from the base right up to the hot, hard tip, and smiled when he was rewarded with a long, low moan.

He pinned Sam's hips down to the bedspread with both hands, and took almost his entire length into his mouth at once. Sam - past the point where he cared _who_  was touching him - lifted his head off the bed with a groan and watched this guy he barely knew sucking on his cock like it was going out of fashion.

Given that he didn't even know Tyler's last name, Sam wasn't surprised that up until this point he hadn't noticed his new friend had a tongue piercing. He could feel it now, though, and Tyler really knew what he was doing. Whether it was his skills or the novelty of being with another guy, it was all over in five minutes - Sam had never come so hard in his life, and Tyler swallowed every drop.

As he lay back on the bed taking deep breaths, Tyler leaned over and kissed him. Sam smiled a little against his mouth, and felt Tyler smile too. He started to reach down between them, figuring he should repay the favour, but the other man pressed all his weight down on Sam's hips and trapped his hand.

"That's not how I wanna come." he whispered. Sam immediately grasped what Tyler meant, and his heart fluttered a little in anticipation. A blowjob was nothing; it had been awesome, but also was the moment of truth, and Sam was pleased to discover he was a little excited to try it. If he was honest, he was also a little relieved that Tyler's cock wasn't as big as his own.

Tyler reached out to the bedside table and opened a drawer, then took out a foil-wrapped condom and a little pump pack of lubricant. "Hope you don't mind being on the bottom." he said, smiling, and Sam laughed breathlessly. He had no idea, but he was looking forward to finding out.

Tyler opened the condom, and blinked in surprise when Sam took it and put it on for him. "Be gentle with me, okay?" Sam said, eyes on his task, though he knew he probably didn't have to. Even as he said it he could hardly believe those words were coming out of his mouth, and couldn't help but smile as he looked up at Tyler.

"For sure." Tyler promised. He gave Sam another kiss, then sat up and tugged on his left hip a little to encourage him to turn over onto his stomach. Sam did, heart rate rising more than a little as he rested his chin on the back of his hands.

Tyler sat back over his quads and saw him taking those deep, calming breaths again, and kissed the back of his neck. "I'm not gonna hurt you." he breathed.

Sam exhaled slowly. "I know." And he did. Really. But that didn't mean he wasn't entitled to a few last-minute nerves.

"Relax. It'll only hurt for a minute, and then it's fun - I promise." Tyler placed one more kiss on the back of Sam's neck, just where it met his right shoulder, then sat up. Sam didn't expect what he did next - Tyler actually gave him a quick massage.

He started at Sam's shoulders and worked down, kneading the tension right out of him, and he enjoyed it almost as much as Sam did. Dean Winchester's baby brother was a big, strong guy, and Tyler really enjoyed getting his hands on those huge muscles.

By the time Tyler got to the base of his lower back, Sam was feeling much more relaxed. He moved down further, running his hands over the smooth globes of Sam's ass, and then stroking a single finger down between them.

That got a little moan from Sam, so he did it again. Sam actually adjusted the position of his hips a little to give Tyler better access, so he put a little lubricant on the fingers of his right hand and gently rubbed it over the tight little ring of muscle.

Sam groaned every time he touched it, and stayed relaxed even when he slid the finger inside, but the low growl from Sam when he did that almost made Tyler blow then and there. He made a mental note to draw this part out next time.

"Ready?" he breathed, stroking Sam's lower back a few times as he rubbed the remaining lube over his own cock.

"Mmm-hm." Sam sighed, eyes closed.

When Tyler entered him Sam let out a gasp that was both shock and a little bit of pain. It was a tight fit, and he couldn't stop the moan that fell from his lips as Tyler pushed the rest of the way in, his hands on Sam's hips to position him exactly where he wanted him.

Sam buried his face in the pillow and held onto it with an iron grip, breathing through the burning pain. Tyler, well aware of how much this could hurt, waited until he felt Sam relaxing around him before drew back and started moving slowly in and out.

He leaned down over Sam, pushing the hair back out of his face and giving him a kiss on the cheek. There was a smile on Sam's lips, and every other breath was a little gasp of pleasure.

"Is this what you wanted?" Tyler asked, his voice only just above a whisper.

"Yes." Sam groaned, eyes fluttering closed. "Oh God, yes."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Sam told Dean the whole story - omitting the graphic details and the name of the 'one guy', of course.

"Well, look at you - my baby brother had friends with benefits! I'm proud of you, Sammy!" Dean grinned, and Sam smiled back.

"It didn't last long." Sam shrugged, looking back down at his dinner. "I met Jess about six months later, and we were going out not long after that." He didn't mention that he spent most of his time with Tyler - and the other guys - imagining he was with Dean.

Dean did a few silent calculations on his fingers, and grinned at Sam again. "You were a busy boy! And here I was wondering if the Winchester sex drive gene passed you over." He laughed, and Sam tried not to blush. Dean seemed pleased, so he just stopped fighting it. And he was right - Sam had never had so many casual sexual relationships in his life. The whole situation sounded more Dean's speed, really.

"So who is this 'one guy'? Do I know him?" Dean raised his eyebrows, taking another swig of beer, and Sam tried not to look like a rabbit caught in headlights. He opened his mouth to reply, and actually considered telling Dean the truth. Well, for half a second anyway.

"Nah, nobody you know." Sam tried to smile, and started chewing on another mouthful of pad thai. He was going to need a helluva lot more than half a beer before he started _that_  conversation.

"Well, I'm glad you told me." Dean said, and Sam raised his eyebrows.

"Don't you mean you're glad you found out?" he asked, pointedly.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, okay - well, I'm glad I know." He looked at Sam for approval of that phrasing, and got a smile. "I don't know why you didn't just  _tell_  me, man."

"Well, this is kind of a sensitive subject for me, you know? And in case you haven't noticed, our plate's kind of full at the moment." Sam pointed out.

"Can't argue with you there." Dean conceded. Honestly, he could understand why Sam hadn't brought it up - this wasn't exactly the kind of thing you sprung on your big brother after barely speaking to him for two years. But he didn't like the idea that Sam thought he needed to keep it a secret.

"I just… look, you can tell me anything. You know that, right?" Dean asked, more seriously, studying his little brother from across the table.

"Yeah, I know that." Sam said. He knew that probably didn't include the 'I'm in love with you' conversation, but he appreciated the sentiment.

"'Cause when you came back with the food, you looked like you were scared I was gonna hit you or something." Dean went on, and Sam sighed. There was a reason for that - in his mind, his sexuality and his attraction to Dean were inextricably linked. When Dean discovered half the secret, Sam's mind immediately went into worst-case-scenario mode and reacted like he'd discovered the  _whole_  secret. But he couldn't tell Dean that.

"I didn't know what to think - I sure as hell didn't expect to have  _this_  conversation when I got back with dinner." Sam replied, smiling a little. That was true, technically. "But for what it's worth, I wanna say thanks. You were pretty cool about it, and - I don't know, you made it easy on me. So, thankyou." he went on, honestly.

"I know, I'm an awesome brother." Dean gave him a winning smile. "And just so you know, if you come across the right guy, you don't have to sneak around or anything. It's cool." he went on, and Sam smiled as he took another bite of his dinner. He really did have an awesome brother.

"I mean, it's not like I wanna watch or anything-" Dean added, grinning, before Sam held up a hand to stop him.

"Dude - that's enough! I get it!" Sam choked, and nearly spat out his mouthful of pad thai. Dean laughed and went back to his noodles, still completely oblivious to the fact the only guy Sam wanted was sitting across the table from him.


	2. Chapter 2

_Dean was in the shower of the latest random motel room, washing off_ _the bloody remnants of the night's_ _hunt. The water running down the drain was approximately the colour of cranberry juice._

_There was a light knock on the shower door, like someone tapping fingertips on the glass. Dean didn't turn around - he knew who it was._

_The visitor opened the_ _door and stepped in, bringing a wave of cold outside air with him. He cosied up behind Dean, and_ _his skin_ _felt cool after the hot, steamy_ _air of the shower._

 _Dean shivered as he felt Sam's_ _arms wind around his midsection,_ _hugging_ _hi_ _s back tight against his_ _hard, muscular_ _chest_ _. Sam placed_ _a kiss on his_ _big brother's_ _cheek_ _and Dean_ _felt_ _hi_ _s open palm come to rest on his right hip, thumb just stroking_ _the_ _skin. Then it slid further down and Sam rubbed gently at his bikini line, right at the top of his inner thigh._

 _He let his head fall back to rest on Sam's shoulder, and leaned back into his baby brother as he wrapped his hand around Dean's_ _rapidly-hardening_ _cock._ _The sensation was divine, and a small moan fell from_ _hi_ _s lips._

_Sam dropped his head to nibble at Dean's right shoulder, at that spot where it met his neck, and was rewarded with another little groan as he nipped at the skin hard enough to leave a small mark. His right hand worked slowly up and down Dean's painfully hard cock as he bit down, deliberately not moving as fast or gripping as tight as Dean really wanted._

_"Sam…!" Dean complained, his voice barely more than a whisper. Sam stopped biting then, and soothed the teeth marks with a few soft kisses. That arm around Dean's waist held tight and pulled him against Sam's chest, and he could feel every breath his baby brother took._

_Dean inhaled slowly and deeply, drawing in lungfuls of the steamy air as Sam started sucking a bruise into that bitten spot, his right hand finally gripping tighter and moving faster, up and down Dean's length, over and over, faster and faster…_

_Then Sam suddenly bit at his shoulder again, the slightly painful sensation of his teeth on the abused, sensitive skin running through Dean's body like a jolt of electricity. He gasped and tensed as it shot down through his abdomen and down the entire length of his cock like a tiny bolt of lightning._

_Sam didn't let Dean go when he came, and only stopped pulling on his cock when Dean sagged back against him, gasping for breath and knees literally gone to jelly._

Dean woke up covered in a thin sheen of sweat, heart pounding, and still half-hard.

He sat up and looked anxiously over to the other bed, but Sam didn't stir. His breathing was deep and regular, and the green neon glow of the motel sign outside illuminated the room enough for Dean to see his eyes were closed. Thankfully, he was still asleep - explaining to your big brother that you started your college career dating guys was exhausting, apparently.

Dean got out of bed and crept into the bathroom, only flicking on the light when the door was safely shut behind him. He groaned when he looked in the mirror and saw the dark patch in the front of his charcoal-grey shorts.

He peeled off his wet, sticky underwear and turned on the cold tap in the sink, but thought better of it before he wet the washcloth - he turned on the hot tap on instead, figuring it was too late for any calming effect the cold water might have. And besides, the early-Spring night was chilly enough already without adding a cold washcloth to the mix. So while he waited for the water to heat up, Dean sat on the edge of the bathroom bench and tried to work out what the hell was going on.

"What the hell is  _wrong_  with you?" he asked his reflection, rubbing wearily at his tired, sleepy eyes. He didn't really have wet dreams, as a rule - he rarely hit a dry spell that long. But on the odd occasion he  _did_  have them, they weren't about other guys - and they sure as hell weren't about his baby brother!

Dean had always loved Sam, like everyone loves a younger sibling. Hell, he'd practically raised the kid - Dean would, and did, do  _anything_  for him. He didn't know exactly when it happened, but sometime in Sam's early teens, that started to turn into something… else. He started having feelings for Sam that he'd only ever had for girls.

Ever since, that thought was always there in the back of his mind. No matter how much he ignored it and denied it and tried to drown it in alcohol, it didn't go away. Apparently being in love with your baby brother wasn't something you could just forget.

He never dared to tell anyone and, of course, Sam never showed the slightest bit of interest in him. Eventually Dean convinced himself there was no point wasting energy fantasising over his straight-as-an-arrow little brother, who he was never going to have, so he threw all his attention into women instead.

It was easy, really. Dean was gorgeous and charming, and he only had to go out and ask when he wanted sex. He'd been able to bury those desires for Sam deep enough that they didn't result in awkward middle-of-the-night cleanup operations like this one. He could even almost forget, sometimes.

 _Then again,_  Dean thought, wiping himself down with the warm washcloth,  _you always thought Sam was straight._

Now he couldn't stop thinking about it - he couldn't lock the door on those thoughts anymore. Now he knew Sam was bi… that changed things. It was still a long stretch from 'bisexual' to 'sleeping with your brother', but it was a bit less of a stretch than making that journey all the way from 'straight'. Apparently, that's all the leeway his subconscious needed to break out the wet dreams. It hadn't wasted any time, either.

As he stuffed the evidence deep into the laundry bag, it occurred to Dean that this could be a real problem. He slept in the same room as Sam every night. Maybe he hadn't heard his big brother moaning his name tonight, but eventually, he was probably going to.

 _And that would be awkward_. Dean stuffed the used washcloth into the bag too. It was part of the motel set, but he just couldn't let Sam wash his face with it in the morning.

Sam was still asleep when Dean crept back out of the bathroom - he could hear his brother's deep, rhythmic breathing. He climbed into his still-warm bed, pulled the covers up to his chin and just watched Sam sleep for a bit. He didn't sleep much these days, really, between the constant hunting and the nightmares about Jess.

 _He's got enough dramas without knowing his brother wants to jump his bones._ Dean was under no illusions about the potential gravity of this situation - it was sitting on his chest like a lead weight. If Sam  _knew_ … that would be game over.

 _How's he supposed to be comfortable spending hours on end in the Impala and stuck in these sardine tins of motel rooms if he knows I want to fuck him senseless?_  Dean chewed on his lower lip and watched as Sam slept on, blissfully unaware of the torment he was causing his big brother.

* * *

 _Oasis Plains, Oklahoma  
_ _Two weeks later_

Things went on pretty much as normal after Dean outed Sam. He was still hung up on Jess, having nightmares about the night she died, and wasn't interested in getting involved with anyone else - male  _or_ female. That angst provided a handy mask for the other huge weight on his mind, and so Dean had no idea his little brother was thinking exactly the same thing he was.

Dean, for his part, continued on as he always had: chasing girls in every town they passed through and pretending he wasn't having incredibly vivid sexual dreams about his little brother. He teased Sam mercilessly, of course, suggesting he should make a move on a guy in almost every bar they visited. Sam was already learning to tune it out, and the subject of his sexual orientation mostly just fell by the wayside as both Winchester boys poured all their energy into the search for John and killing every evil sonofabitch between here and there.

They were running themselves ragged, trying to keep busy. On the surface it looked like they were trying to keep their minds off their missing father - and yeah, that was part of it. But, increasingly, John Winchester's sons were trying to keep their minds off each other.

That was part of the reason Sam found himself sitting in the lounge/dining area of their 'borrowed' house in Oasis Plains at eleven o'clock at night, eating the last slice of pizza and staring at the mess of papers on the table in front of him. Research was usually a good way to keep his mind off his big brother, and as Dean very rarely did any research of his own, it had become Sam's primary coping strategy.

Well, Sam was  _supposed_  to be researching. His brain wouldn't let him. He couldn't stop thinking about the realtor's barbecue earlier that day, when Larry and Lynda had mistaken him and Dean for a couple. It was a nice feeling, even if it was just a cover.

_And Dean slapping you on the ass was kind of nice, too._

Sam sighed and tried to get his head back in the game - wishing wasn't going to help him any. So he threw himself back into trying to work out what the hell was killing people with bugs.

"As if that's a weapon any self-respecting supernatural fiend should be using." he grumbled, picking through the papers for the article on the first death - a surveyor, almost exactly a year ago. He went through his entire sheaf of articles, and printed web pages,  _and_  county records, but it was nowhere to be found.

"Where the hell...?" Sam stood up and stared at the paperwork the littered the tabletop, frowning. He knew it was here - he'd  _seen_  it. "Naturally, I can't find it  _now_ …" he muttered, looking over the paperwork one more time. It was annoying that the only article he wanted was MIA, but at least the original was on his laptop.

"And where the hell is  _that_?" Sam groaned, and glanced around the room for the little silver computer. After two minutes of fruitless searching, he realised where it must be.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

While Sam was occupying himself with work, Dean had taken a different tack. Being on the road with his baby brother again was nice and all, but it had been a while since he'd been able to get any real privacy and even longer since his last one-night stand (he'd been chasing women, sure, but he hadn't actually  _caught_  any), so he intended to make the most of this separate-rooms deal while he could.

Dean was in his bedroom, sitting on the bed with Sam's laptop open beside him and lit only by the bedside lamp, dimmed down as far is it would go. He was all set - he had a nice stack of pillows to lean against, there were tissues and lube close at hand, and Busty Asian Beauties was playing on the laptop. Very definitely  _heterosexual_  inspiration.

He was half-hard even before he settled back into the pillows and wrapped his right hand around his cock, but as Dean sat there in the darkened room working on his neglected manhood, the situation didn't improve much.

This was something new for the indomitable Dean Winchester. He'd never had this problem before - he could always get himself off. But now, in the relative comfort of his own private bedroom, and despite the lovely ladies at Busty Asian Beauties and his best technique, he'd only been able to get most of the way to hard.

After nearly five minutes of fruitless effort, when it became clear it just wasn't happening, he had to admit defeat. He paused the video with an unnecessarily vicious jab at the keyboard and let his head fall back against the bedhead with a frustrated groan.

"Fuck." Dean swore under his breath, looking over at the laptop. As far as he was concerned, he shouldn't be having this problem. He hadn't been with a girl since he found out Sam was bi, and even though he'd had a couple of wet dreams in that time, the whole thing should still be just about over and done with by now - ever since he'd discovered it existed, no matter how busy he'd been, Busty Asian Beauties had always done the trick. But he wasn't really in the mood for Busty Asian Beauties tonight, and he knew that before he even shut his bedroom door. He'd loaded it anyway, though, because it was easier than admitting to himself what he  _really_  wanted to watch.

Dean closed his eyes, listening to the rain falling on the roof, and considered his options. It didn't take long - there weren't many.

He could write this whole night off, give Sam the laptop back, and just go to sleep. That wasn't an attractive thought, though, because he still needed that release. If for no other reason than to stop himself shouting Sam's name at the end of another wet dream. These houses might look good, but the walls were paper thin.

He could head out and find someone to provide the release  _for_  him… but Oasis Plains was kind of in the middle of nowhere, and Dean had a feeling he'd run into the same problem anyway. And it was bad enough when it happened while he was alone. He definitely did  _not_  want a repeat performance in front of an audience.

There was a third option, though. Dean looked over at the laptop again, chewing a little on his bottom lip. He was pretty sure he knew what the solution was, but once he went there, he couldn't go back. There was no way to un-ring this bell.

"Fuck." Dean swore again, rubbing at the bridge of his nose with his forefinger. Then he closed the web browser and opened up Sam's private photo album, and after a moment's hesitation, moved the cursor over to one of the video files - the one designated "Blake".

"You need this, Dean." he told himself, finger tapping at the surface of the laptop just to the right of the trackpad.

_Just enough to get the job done, so you don't have another one of those wet dreams._

He took a breath and double-clicked.

The video began with Sam opening the door of what looked like a college dorm room. Dean could make out two single beds, a couple of easy chairs, some very overloaded bookcases and an air conditioning unit in the wall. The camera was evidently sitting on a shelf or something, positioned to have one of the beds in the centre of the frame. The quality was quite good, too - good enough that he felt slightly voyeuristic as he watched the individual muscles move under Sam's skin as he pulled his shirt off. There was sound as well, but Dean turned that off. He didn't have headphones, and he did  _not_  need Sam hearing this.

Sam wasn't a small guy, but the man that followed him in must have had three inches and 30lb on him. 'Blake' looked like a linebacker. When he turned to shut - and lock - the door, Dean realised why: he was wearing a 'Stanford Football' t-shirt. The guy probably  _was_  a frigging linebacker.

Evidently, both Sam and his playmate were a little drunk. It took Sam a few moments to get out of his clothes, and his linebacker friend had to lean against a bookcase to balance himself before he could even undo his shoes.

It was also evident that Blake was used to being in charge. He pushed Sam down on the bed, face first, and Dean could almost hear the  _unf_  of the breath being forced out of his lungs. He straddled Sam's hamstrings, but hesitated before he took the condom the younger Winchester held out. Sam evidently insisted, though, because he eventually took it and rolled it on.

"Good boy, Sammy." Dean breathed, absently stroking a hand up and down the length of his erection. He was still only half hard, but so enthralled by this other side of Sam that he'd all but forgotten about it.

Without further ado, Blake applied some lube that Sam fished out of the nightstand, took a couple of seconds to get lined up, and went for it.

Dean's eyes widened as he watched this total stranger grab his little brother by the back of the neck and lean on him, pushing him down hard onto the bed. He saw Sam's shoulders tense as he held onto the pillow, eyes scrunched up tight and lips slightly open in what Dean could tell had been a strangled moan of pain.

The linebacker wasn't gentle. He didn't wait for Sam to relax or stretch out or anything. He held him down, hard enough that Dean suspected he must have left bruises on Sam's neck and hips, and drove into him mercilessly. No touching, no kissing, no nothing. Just sex.

Dean, honestly, wasn't quite sure how he felt about watching someone doing this to Sam. He felt a little stir of possessiveness and jealousy, mixed with a little of his protective big brother instinct - nobody treated Dean Winchester's little brother that way. But, at the same time, he got a little thrill out of it he didn't expect.

You see, it didn't escape his notice that Sam didn't lift a finger to stop the guy. In fact, Dean thought he could almost see a little smile on his lips. And the thought that Sam was happy to let someone else be on top, and in control like that…

Dean closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the headboard, right hand working on his rapidly hardening cock. He could just imagine it. Kneeling over Sam's hamstrings, buried balls-deep in his baby brother; running his hands along those big muscles in his back, grabbing handfuls of that floppy, shiny brown hair…

Just as Dean was finally making progress, his daydream was shattered by two sharp raps on the bedroom door.

"Dude, I need my laptop." Sam was standing in the hallway outside, and he frowned when all he got in reply was an anguished groan.

On the other side of the door, Dean was torn. He wanted to see this through  _so_  much - he was heading for an epically good orgasm. He just knew it. He wouldn't usually worry about the interruption - this wasn't exactly the first time it had happened, and at least Sam hadn't actually _walked in_  this time - but the object of his mental porn flick standing outside the bedroom door yelling for his laptop back kind of destroyed the mood.

"Dammit, Sam!" Dean's annoyed voice came back through the door, and Sam almost smacked himself in the forehead with the heel of his hand as he realised what Dean had needed the laptop for.

"You know what, you can keep it." Sam called back hurriedly, but before he could make his getaway, Dean yanked the door open and glared at his little brother. He was wearing only a t-shirt and loose sweatpants, and Sam forced himself to keep his gaze safely up on Dean's face.

"Separate rooms for the first time in weeks and you come looking for your computer  _now_?" Dean growled, shoving the closed silver laptop at him. Sam took it, and resisted the urge to ask if he needed to wipe it down; judging by the way Dean was staring daggers at him, he might take the laptop back and hit Sam over the head with it.

"Yeah, sorry about that… just wanted to check some facts." Sam said apologetically, trying not to smile. "You might consider putting a sock on the doorknob next time." he added, unable to help himself. Dean narrowed his eyes, and slammed the door in Sam's smiling face.

Sam chuckled, blissfully unaware of the true nature of what he'd interrupted, and headed back to the living area. Dean, the mood well and truly ruined, followed him a few minutes later. If he couldn't get himself off and he couldn't sleep, then he might as well work.

He grabbed a beer out of their little fridge and sank into a chair at the dining room table, rubbing at his tired eyes. "Sorry." Sam repeated, genuinely apologetic this time. There were few things worse than being interrupted when you were halfway through getting yourself off.

"Too late now." Dean grumbled, and took a long pull of his beer. He didn't look up at Sam - the images of his little brother under that linebacker were a little too fresh in his mind for that. "So, what are we doing?" he asked instead, pulling his chair up closer to the table.

After a few more drinks, Dean eventually fell asleep - well, passed out - on the couch, in amongst a mess of papers. Sam couldn't help but watch him. He liked to watch Dean sleep. Sam didn't get much of his own, between his nightmares about Jess and worrying about their dad, and he knew Dean would probably worry if he knew how little rest he was actually getting.

 _The fact that_ _you spend_ _a lot of that time watching_ _him_ _sleep would probably weird him out too,_  Sam figured. He couldn't help it, though - Dean looked so peaceful while he slept, and it made him even more attractive than usual. Even flaked out on the couch like this, drunk, he was gorgeous.

Sam forced himself to look back at the laptop, blinking hard at the screen a few times and trying to get his mind back on the job. He'd only been back at it for about five minutes when Dean started dreaming. It wasn't a nightmare - Sam had seen plenty of those. This was something different: Dean was smiling a little, making happy noises, and his sweatpants did nothing to hide his growing erection.

Sam leaned back in his chair, eyes on Dean, and ran a hand back through his hair with a sigh. He didn't know why, but his big brother seemed to be in overdrive lately. Whenever he wasn't actually  _with_  a girl he was dreaming about it, and Sam knew he shouldn't really be watching. He felt like a bit of a voyeur whenever this happened, and with his nightmare-induced insomnia he usually had a front row seat. And, figuring he'd never be the subject of those dreams - no matter how much he'd love to be - he'd had just about enough of it.

Sam hauled himself up out of the chair and went over to Dean, then grabbed him by the right shoulder and shook him.

"Dean!"

Dean groaned, blinking bleary eyes at Sam as he struggled to sit up. It took him a second to realise the Sam standing in front of him was different to the one he'd just been with in his dream.

Suddenly, he was  _wid_ e awake. He shifted his hips, trying to adjust the sweatpants to hide his obvious raging hard-on, but was relieved to discover the train hadn't left the station, so to speak. He was so hard it hurt, but that was as far as it had gone.

"Dude, if you're that tired, just go to bed." Sam stifled a yawn as he went back to his chair. "Plus, I don't really want to listen to another one of your wet dreams, man."

Dean glanced sideways at Sam, now sitting back at the table, but his eyes were firmly fixed on the laptop. He obviously hadn't said Sam's name, because if he'd done that, things would be a  _whole_  lot more awkward right now.

"I know we've been kinda busy lately, but seriously, Dean - when we clear this job, go and find a girl." Sam added, without looking up.

Dean opened his mouth to fire back with a smartass comment, but his sleepy, beer-soaked brain couldn't produce one, so he settled for an irritated grunt as he hauled himself up off the couch. He shambled back down the hall to his bedroom, leaving Sam with his research, and shut the door behind him before climbing out of his clothes and falling into bed.

He was still half-hard, and with images of Sam in his head and alcohol-dampened inhibitions out of the way, it was easy. The whole thing was over in minutes, and Dean got the best night's sleep he'd had since they'd arrived in Iowa.


	3. Chapter 3

_Rockford, Illinois  
_ _Two weeks later_

_If there was any justice,_  Sam thought, climbing up off the floor of that Godforsaken dungeon under the Roosevelt Asylum,  _people wouldn't remember the stuff they do while they're possessed._

He had never felt that out-of-control before. Ellicott Senior's ghost supercharged that undercurrent of anger and pain that was always running through his mind lately, and everything just went white-hot. And suddenly, shooting Dean seemed like a really good outlet for all that rage and frustration. Sam didn't want to remember blasting his big brother with a shotgun shell full of rock salt. He didn't want to remember standing over Dean, the Smith & Wesson handgun heavy in his hands, squeezing the trigger...

"So… thanks for not giving me a loaded gun." Sam said uncertainly, and rubbed at his jaw as he watched Dean replace the empty clip in the Smith & Wesson.

"Yeah, I'm glad about that too." Dean replied, drily. He worked the slide to chamber a round before he flicked the safety back on and tucked it into his jeans.

Sam frowned as something occurred to him. "Why were you carrying around an unloaded gun?" he asked.

"Wasn't." Dean replied, matter-of-factly.

"So, how did you get it unloaded then...?"

"A magician never reveals his secrets." Dean smiled and ran a hand back through his hair. Motes of Ellicott dust drifted away on the air.

"Yeah, okay - whatever. But you do know that wasn't me, right?" Sam said, just to be clear. "I don't _actually_  want to shoot you."

"I know. At least not most of the time, anyway." Dean was still smiling, but Sam just looked back at him. The younger Winchester didn't find it funny.

Dean sighed, rolling his eyes. "God knows we have our moments, Sam, but I know you don't want to shoot me. Ellicott just overclocked whatever is already simmering away in that Cro-Magnon skull of yours to make you  _think_  you did. It's cool - really." He looked at Sam, eyebrows raised expectantly. He didn't actually ask the question, but Sam got the message loud and clear:  _Are you happy now?_

Now it was Sam's turn to sigh. He wasn't happy - not at all.

There was always the threat of imminent death on a hunt - that wasn't new, and Sam was used to it. Or at least, he was used to it as it was possible to be. But that was before he nearly shot the love of his life dead with his own gun.

Dean might have known the gun wasn't loaded, but Sam hadn't - as he stood there over his brother, finger tightening on the trigger, he really believed it was loaded with live rounds. He was going to shoot Dean. He  _wanted_  to do it. He'd even pulled the fucking trigger.

Sam kept it together on the long walk out of the asylum's dungeon-like basement, and out into the weak morning sun. But by the time they got back to their motel room, he couldn't keep a lid on it anymore. He couldn't stand the thought that one or both of them might die without Dean knowing how he really felt.

"There's something I wanna tell you."

Just the tone of Sam's voice warned Dean a chick-flick moment was fast approaching, and he winced. He got quickly out of the Impala and shoved the door shut a little harder than he intended, and winced again.

"Sam, whatever it is can wait till I've had a shower. It was a long fucking night, and I'm covered in rock salt and frigging Ellicott dust. I just want to get cleaned up and go to bed." Dean went up to the door of their motel room and shoved the key into it. He just didn't have the energy to indulge Sam's emotional crap right now.

Sam followed him in and shut the door behind them while Dean rummaged around in his duffel for some clean clothes, deliberately not looking at Sam and praying that he'd take the hint. He grabbed the cleanest-looking jeans and shirt he could find and was about to make his escape into the bathroom, but stopped when he glanced over at Sam and saw the distressed expression on his baby brother's face.

After his near-death experience with a side of honesty served neat at the hands of the departed doctor's ghost earlier, he  _really_  didn't want to do this. But Sam obviously did. He was still standing by the door, watching him with those irresistible Goddamn puppy dog eyes…

Dean groaned and dropped his fresh clothes back into the bag.

"I know it was a long fucking night, Dean. You nearly died - again - and that's why I want to do it now. Before I lose my nerve." Sam said, and came over to sit on his bed.

"It wasn't so much 'I nearly died' as 'you nearly killed me'." Dean muttered, but sat on the edge of his own bed, facing him. The youngest Winchester just frowned, and he sighed.  _Don't be an ass, Dean._

"Is this about the stuff Ellicott made you say? 'Cause I know it wasn't all bullshit, and I'm okay with that. I get it." Dean said, and Sam blinked in surprise.

"Um - no, actually, that's not it."

 _Awkward…_ It was Dean's turn to be taken aback. If it wasn't that, then what the hell  _was_  it? He could see the uncertainty in Sam's face, and it was starting to worry him. He never had a problem telling Dean what he thought - sometimes pathologically so.

Sam studied the floor by Dean's feet for a long moment, trying to find the right words. As if there was a 'right way' to drop this bombshell on his big brother.

_Maybe you should just keep it to yourself._

It had been a stressful 24 hours already, and Dean didn't need to be carrying this around with him as well… It might be better for all concerned if Sam locked this particular drama back in its box.

"What is it, Sam?" Dean interrupted his train of thought, and Sam looked up at him. He looked concerned.

"I know what you're thinking, Sam, and don't you dare. You opened Pandora's friggin' Box already, so suck it up and finish it." Dean was really starting to get worried now. What the hell could Sam have to say to make him hesitate like this?

Sam took a long, deep breath.  _Nothing for it but to dive in, I guess._

"You wanted to know what I was talking to the shrink about." he began, and Dean nodded. "Well, remember in Iowa, when I told you about my conversation with Tyler, and you wanted to know who that 'one guy' was?" Sam asked, and Dean sighed wearily. Not exactly earth-shattering stuff.

"Yeah, of course I remember. Why's it so Goddamn important to-" Dean stopped suddenly, and his eyes widened as the pieces started to fall into place. He didn't need Sam to spell it out. He got there all on his own.

"Are you saying that I'm…?" he trailed off, and Sam nodded once.

"I've been in love with you ever since I was old enough to know what these feelings were, Dean."

 _Shit._  Dean's heart rate immediately shot through the roof. "Sam-" he started, but Sam held up a hand and cut him off.

"Lemme finish." He had to get the words out. If he stopped now he knew he'd never be able to do this again.

"I don't want to be just your brother. I don't want to sleep in the next bed - I want to be in _your_  bed, with you. Even when I'm with another guy, I'm not thinking about him. I'm imagining I'm with you." Sam never expected to be able to come clean like this, and was surprised to find it was actually kind of cathartic to say it all out loud.

Dean got up and paced a few steps, scrubbing a hand over his face and then running it back through his hair while he stared at the carpet and tried to work out what the fuck to do next.

"Why the hell would you even bring this up, Sam?" That came out harsher than he intended, and Sam was visibly stung by the angry edges to his words. He flinched like Dean had slapped him.

"What happened to 'I can tell you anything'?" The hurt came through in his voice, too, and Dean winced.

"Do you have any idea how hard it is to say this out loud? I'd give  _anything_  not to feel this way, but I can't keep the secret anymore. It's too fucking heavy and I can't carry it." Sam closed his eyes and took a long, halting breath.

Now it was Dean's turn to stare down at the carpet in search of the right words while he took a deep, calming breath of his own. He'd imagined this scene before, countless times, and there was nothing he wanted more than to say yes.  _Nothing_ _._  Which was why this hurt so Goddamn much.

"Sam, we can't." he said, not quite able to believe these words were coming out of his mouth. "I mean, I don't feel…"

Dean made the mistake of looking up at Sam as he was talking and the words stuck in his throat. The younger Winchester looked absolutely crushed, and his eyes began to fill with tears despite his best efforts to fight it.

"I'm sorry, Sam." Dean said, helplessly, but Sam didn't reply. He closed his eyes and dropped his head, taking a couple of slow breaths as he tried not to cry. Then he got silently up off the bed and started for the door, without saying a word.

Dean reached out and caught his arm as he went past. Sam tried to shake him off, but he held on. "I just need some time, okay?" Sam said softly, voice catching a little. After a long moment Dean released him, and Sam disappeared out into the drizzly Illinois morning.

While Sam went walkabout, Dean had his shower - partly because he couldn't think of anything else to do, and partly because he needed to do _something_  to keep his mind off the demolition job he'd just done on his little brother.

He tried to sleep, but even after running around the Roosevelt Asylum all night, he just couldn't get his brain to slow down enough. It was too early to start drinking, so he lay there in the near-darkness of the motel room, some anaemic sunshine from the cloudy morning outside seeping in around the heavy curtains, and just let it run.

It might have been the right thing to do, but it hurt like hell. That was mostly how Dean knew it was right - in his experience, doing the right thing pretty much always sucked. Sam might have had casual relationships with guys, but that was something different. Even as marginalised as homosexual couples could be, that was a walk in the park compared to how their relationship would be received. Dating your little brother wasn't something you went into lightly.

And Dean didn't like to think about it too hard, but honestly, Sam could do better. He very nearly had - at Stanford, he had Jess. He'd loved her, and that meant he could love another girl (or guy, or whatever). He could get married, buy a house, have kids… But, if he was with Dean, he'd never get out of this life. He wouldn't have a snowball's chance at normal, and Dean wanted him to have normal. A  _lot_.

Dean made a decision as he lay there in the semi-darkness. He'd carry on as if he wasn't in love with Sam, keep his mouth shut and hope he could find a way out before he got trapped, like his big brother had.

Despite his best efforts, Dean only got about an hour of sleep at most. Between his brain running at a million miles an hour and his stomach screaming for food, he had to go and get something to eat at about noon. When he came back, he opened the door to find Sam sitting at the table.

The youngest Winchester looked up when he heard the door, an impassive expression on his face. He had a glass on the table in front of him, hands wrapped around it, and the bottle of cheap whiskey Dean had been resisting all day sat by his left arm.

"Half expected you to have packed your bags and taken off." Dean said, locking the door behind him but not moving any further into the room. This right here was the very definition of awkward.

"When I saw the Impala was gone, I thought you might've done the same thing." Sam replied softly, looking back down at the glass of whiskey in front of him.

Dean nodded and pursed his lips. "We gonna talk about it?"

"Nothing more to say." Sam twitched one shoulder in a shrug. "I told you how I feel, and it's okay that you don't feel the same way. I can get over it if you can."

Dean narrowed his eyes a little, surprised Sam was taking it so well. He obviously wasn't feeling great, but he didn't look too bad, considering - his eyes were a little red and he was a bit pale, but he was dealing, apparently.

_Either that, or he's wading around waist-deep in denial._

Dean's money was on the latter, but he really didn't feel like pushing the issue. Not today - Sam was in enough pain already.

_He's nailed the lid down pretty tight, but this has to hurt like hell._

"Okay." Dean sat down at the table, and put his white Burger Heaven bag down in front of him. "I know you don't want to talk about it right now, but I really am sorry. You're my little brother and I love you, so I don't want this to get between us, okay?" he said.

"You're right - I don't wanna talk about it." Sam tried to smile. "But thanks."

"Well, in the event you ever do, you know where to find me." Dean smiled back, equally unconvincing, and started unpacking his lunch. He offered the fries to Sam, who shook his head.

"I already ate." he said, but stole a couple anyway. That's what brothers do, after all, and that's what they were - all they were ever going to be. The thought made Sam want to cry.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_Springfield, Illinois  
_ _Four weeks later_

"What about him?" Dean pointed out a guy standing by the bar with the neck of his half-empty beer bottle.

Sam sighed, but looked over anyway. He had to admit, the guy was kind of cute, actually - slim, about six feet tall, with playfully tousled blonde hair, peaches-and-cream skin, and blue eyes. And he was wearing a pair of jeans that looked like they were _made_  for him, they fit so snugly. But Sam didn't want Peaches-And-Cream over there, and they both knew it.

"Do we have to go through this again?" he asked wearily, and Dean shook his head. "It'll be good for you, Sammy. You need the release, man." he said, a faint frown line appearing between his eyebrows as he studied his little brother.

"I'm not the one having wet dreams every other night." Sam pointed out, more heat in his words than he intended. He winced as Dean immediately stiffened. "Sorry, man. You're right - I'm tense." he said apologetically.

_Don't be an ass, Sam. He's just trying to help._

"Yeah, well, I might be a little tense too." Dean admitted, his gaze focused on something over Sam's left shoulder. "But you wanna know what the difference is between you and me?" he asked, getting up out of his chair.

"What's that?" Sam asked, confused.

"I'm going to do something about it." Dean winked at him, and Sam turned to see two pretty young women making eyes at his older brother. They could have been only seconds older than 'jailbait', but Dean gravitated towards them like a moth to a flame and Sam found himself alone at the bar.

As he watched Dean introduce himself and sit down with the two gorgeous girls, Sam reflected on what a miracle it was that his big brother even wanted to be in the same room with him. After the disastrous end to the Ellicott hunt he'd expected Dean to offer him an awkward, silent ride back to California at the most, and it was a huge relief that he didn't want them to go their own separate ways.

Now all he had to do, he figured, was work out how to live the rest of his life within sight of paradise. But being so close to Dean all the time still wasn't easy, so he threw himself into the hunt for John and the thing that had killed Mary and Jess.

It had taken a few horrendously awkward days, but things had eventually started to get back to something resembling normal. The only real fight they'd had was the one in Indiana, when he'd made Dean leave him on the side of the road and struck out on his own for California, and that wasn't even about this unrequited love debacle. Not really. There was plenty of unrelated tension in the Winchester family, and all that had been more than enough on its own.

But now, after they'd dealt with Roy LeGrange in Nebraska and started on their way to a new job in Pennsylvania, Sam was starting to think it could work. That didn't mean it still wasn't awkward sometimes, or that it didn't hurt like hell, but it was getting better - almost bearable, most of the time. And when it wasn't - like when Dean was trying to get him to hook up with random strangers in bars - Jim, Jack and Jose were always happy to lend a numbing hand.

With a view to dampening that pain, Sam had just finished his third beer of the night when a guy about his age in a leather jacket sank down onto the stool beside him with a sigh and ordered a straight bourbon.

"You look about the same as I feel." Sam said, before he knew he was talking.

The guy gave him a faint smile, running a hand back over his short, dark hair. "I seriously doubt you're having a worse day than I am." he sighed, and Sam sniffed.

_I'm in love with my brother, but he doesn't love me back. How much worse could your day possibly be?_

"Try me." he said instead, looking over at the newcomer.

The guy looked uncertain. "Nah, I don't wanna lay my dramas on you." He gave Sam a small, slightly awkward smile. It made his eyes crinkle appealingly at the corners - like his face was used to smiling all the time.

"I don't mind if you do. It'll take my mind off my own." Sam said, with a little smile of his own. The guy took a sip of his bourbon and considered that for a few seconds.

"My name's Jackson." He held out his hand, and the youngest Winchester shook it.

"Sam. So, tell me." he said, signalling the bartender for another beer.

Jackson was silent for a second, staring down into his bourbon and chewing on his bottom lip while he considered his words. "Well, I found out my partner was cheating on me. I came home after work today and found him with one of our friends."

Sam winced, and groaned sympathetically. "Wow - that sucks." He didn't know this guy from a hole in the wall, but he seemed nice enough. And Sam couldn't help but notice that he had the most beautiful golden-brown eyes.

"I haven't even told you the best part yet." Jackson chuckled mirthlessly. "To top it off, she's married to a guy I know. They live down the street from us, and he saw me storming out of the house and came over to ask what was wrong. Mike - my partner - followed me out, and then Julie followed _him_."

Sam let out a low whistle, and Jackson nodded. "Oh yeah." he said, a sardonic little smile on his face. "Imagine the scene. The four of us standing in our driveway, me screaming at Mike and my friend screaming at Mike  _and_  Julie." He drained the rest of his bourbon in one shot, and signalled the bartender for another.

"That's pretty screwed up." Sam conceded. He could imagine it must suck to find your boyfriend cheating on you - and with a woman, to boot.

"So, I'm pretty impressed with how fast and how completely my day went to hell." Jackson said drily, and looked up. "I showed you mine. Time to show me yours." he went on, smiling a little again. Sam couldn't help but give him a little smile back.

"Okay. Well, you see that guy over there with the two girls?" Sam discreetly pointed Dean out, and Jackson nodded. It didn't escape Sam's notice that he checked Dean out from head to toe.

"That's Dean. He's… well, he's my best friend. I've known him forever, and there's no-one on this planet I'm closer to - we're like brothers." Sam said, not entirely untruthfully. Coming right out and telling this random guy he and Dean were literally brothers just didn't seem like a great idea.

"Okay." Jackson said, and the look on his face told Sam he'd already figured out where this was probably going.

Sam scratched half-heartedly at part of a beer label someone had stuck to the top of the bar. "Yeah. He's the love of my life."

Jackson grimaced. "That's rough." he said, sounding genuinely sympathetic.

"Oh, it gets better." Sam took another long swig of his beer, then held the bottle up in a gesture of suspense. "We're on a road trip, and a few towns back, I fucking  _told_  him."

Jackson whistled, glancing over at Dean again. "I take it that didn't go well?"

"No. He doesn't feel the same way." Sam sighed. 'It didn't go well' was the understatement of the century.

"But you're still together…?" Jackson was understandably confused.

"Yeah. Neither of us wants to lose the relationship we have, and we're kinda just white-knuckling it and trying not to let it get weird." Sam took another drink, brow furrowed as he watched Dean with his two captive co-eds.

"Staying in tiny motel rooms with the love of your life when you know you can't have him." Jackson said, thoughtfully swirling the bourbon in his glass.

"I know! How messed up is that?" Sam chuckled. Hearing someone say it out loud made it sound even more ridiculous.

"I've gotta say, that makes me feel a little better about my day." Jackson said, deadpan, and Sam laughed - genuinely this time, which got an equally genuine smile from Jackson. It made his whole face light up.

"How do you do it? I mean, he's _gorgeous_ , and he must be a nice guy - how do you live like that?" Jackson asked, watching Dean laughing and smiling over the other side of the bar. He evidently had those two girls eating out his hand.

"I dunno." Sam contemplated his half-empty beer for a long moment, turning it around in place on its coaster. "It hurts like hell to be near him, but I think it might be worse to be separated."

Jackson nodded, and took a sip of his bourbon. "You're a better man than I am. If I was on the road with him, I'd have to be picking up guys in every town we visited." he added pointedly, smiling again.

Sam shrugged, looking down at his beer with a coy little smile. "Who says I'm not?" Truth was, up till now, he couldn't bring himself to do it. Picking up other guys while he was on the road with Dean meant that, despite everything, he still didn't have the one he really wanted. But sitting here chatting with Jackson like this, he was starting to think that maybe he should give it a try.

That got a raised eyebrow and a knowing look from Jackson. "So, is that what this is? Are you trying to pick me up?" That smile was still on his face, and Sam's heart rate rose a little.

"That might be fun. And I think both of us could use some fun." Sam replied, and Jackson pursed his lips. He had nice lips - not as nice as Dean's, but then again, nobody had lips like Dean's.

_You have to stop thinking like that!_

"I'd suggest we go back to my place, but…" Jackson trailed off. Sam immediately realised what he meant - his ex was probably still packing up his stuff or something, and that would be awkward with a capital 'A'.

"I'm checked into the motel down the road." Sam suggested. Jackson just smiled back.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Dean watched his baby brother from his seat with the two lovely young ladies, Laura and Michelle… or Lindsey and Melanie… or something. Honestly, he wasn't paying all that much attention.

Anyway - Dean was chatting and laughing with these two gorgeous girls, but he just wasn't  _feeling_  it. He couldn't stop watching Sam.

 _It's good he's moving on and getting back on the horse,_  Dean told himself, with a little smile.  _So to speak, anyway._  From what he'd seen in the videos - and he'd watched every second of each one since Oasis Plains - Sam wasn't usually the one doing the riding.

Dean downed the last of his whiskey, laughing reflexively at one of the inane jokes Laura (Lindsey?) was telling, but his smile faltered as he watched Sam. He just wasn't enjoying seeing his baby brother chatting up this complete stranger - Sam was leaning in close to Tall, Dark and Random now, talking softly and laughing.

_God, th_ _e_ _guy even looks like me. Dark, short hair, torn jeans, old black leather jacket…_

Dean knew this jealousy was irrational. He'd had his chance. Sam wasn't his, so he didn't get to be jealous.

That didn't stop him though, because deep down, he knew that all he had to do was  _ask_.

Then, to Dean's surprise, Sam and the guy both suddenly got up and left. He blinked a few times as he watched them - he couldn't quite believe he'd just seen his baby brother pick up another guy in a bar. Even though he'd been encouraging him to do it for weeks now,  _seeing_  it for the first time stung more than he expected.

_It was so much easier to tolerate Sam with girls!_

Dean, suddenly not in the mood to be out, finished his drink and got up to leave _._ It'd be nice to take one (or both) of these girls home with him - just because he fancied Sam didn't mean he stopped looking at women - but Dean just didn't feel like making the effort _._  He knew he wasn't exactly bringing his A-game to start with, but watching Sam hook up with this random guy was the last straw.

"You got anything planned tonight?"

Dean turned to find Michelle/Melanie standing behind him, smiling suggestively, and could hardly believe his luck.

 _You should've driven here instead of walking!_  Dean hadn't intended to leave the bar in any condition to drive, so he left the Impala at the motel. Right now though, he couldn't help but think it would be really handy to have Baby waiting outside in the shadows, with her big, comfortable back seat…

Dean and his new friend left Laura/Lindsey at the bar with a new friend of her own - the guy that Dean had pointed out to Sam earlier, in fact - and took the short walk back to the motel. They were almost at the door to the Winchesters' room when Dean heard something bang against the wall inside, and stopped dead.

"Stay here for a sec, okay?" Dean left the girl - her friend had called her Michelle when they'd said goodbye - by the door to the adjoining room.

 _This would figure,_  he thought to himself as he crept forward.  _I come back to the room with a girl - despite a less-than-stellar performance in the bar - and find something waiting to tear my_ _head off. Frigging ty_ _pical._

He peeked into the room through a chink in the curtains, hand on his Colt. When he saw what was actually going on inside, he decided he would have preferred a slavering, toothy monster of some kind. At least he knew how to deal with those.

Sam and Tall, Dark and Random were over the other side of the room. They were both naked, the floor littered with clothes, and Sam had pushed the smaller guy up against the wall. Lit only by a single bedside lamp, Dean saw the muscles in Sam's back working as he held the guy there, and then the rhythmic contraction of Sam's ass and lower back as he-

Dean sucked in a breath and turned away from the window before he could see any more. It would be difficult to explain to his latest one night stand why watching his brother got him hard.

"What's the hold up?" Michelle complained, arms wrapped around herself as a defence against the cold Illinois night.

Dean paused for a second before he turned back to her, considering his words before he spoke. "So, it turns out my brother beat us here." he said apologetically, while simultaneously trying to be as vague as possible.

"I thought you said he hooked up with someone." Michelle frowned.

 _Did he ever._  Dean winced as he heard another thump from inside. "Uh - yeah. He did." he said, trying not to put too fine a point on it.

" _Ohhh_." Michelle said slowly, her eyes widening in comprehension.

Dean nodded, trying not to think too hard about what was going on just ten feet away. "Yeah - ' _oh_ '. So, how far away is your place again?" he asked hopefully, and Michelle hesitated as she looked him up and down, obviously considering her options. Dean could almost hear her wondering if this random stranger was worth the trouble.

"Only about a five minute drive from here." she said eventually, that suggestive smile back on her face. Dean smiled, and pulled his car keys out of his pocket.


	4. Chapter 4

When Dean got back the motel room a couple of hours later, Sam was in the shower. He was relieved to see Jackson's clothes were gone and Sam's were piled up on the floor at the end of his bed - it was safe to assume he was alone in there, then.

 _Thank Christ for that._  Dean sighed, and put two bottles in brown paper bags down on the table. He'd stopped off at a liquor store on the way to Michelle's place, and between them they'd finished off most of a bottle of bourbon. Dean was trying to forget about Jackson, but Michelle thought they were just having a good time. And when she finally got Dean into bed, with his inhibitions sufficiently alcohol-dampened and fuelled by mental images of Sam, she had  _such_  a good time that she didn't want to let him go.

That hadn't stopped him taking off, though, or picking up a fresh bottle of bourbon on the way home. Having noticed it was much easier to deal with his drama when he drowned it in alcohol, Dean was taking one more swig from the open bottle when Sam came out of the bathroom.

"Hey - thought you'd be curled up somewhere with one of those college girls. Even both." Sam greeted him goodnaturedly, but Dean didn't smile back. He was too busy trying not to look - Sam had come out of the bathroom to get his clothes, and was only wearing a little motel towel around his waist. Dean didn't want to see the droplets of water that covered his baby brother's chest like tiny specks of glitter, or the way his damp hair curled invitingly at the ends…

_Jesus, Dean, get a grip!_

"Didn't work out for you, huh?" Sam went on, grabbing some fresh clothes out of his bag and thinking how amusing it would be if he'd gotten laid when Dean had struck out. He didn't notice the metaphorical thundercloud hanging over his big brother's head.

"Oh, it worked out fine. Spent the last couple of hours at her place." Dean replied, trying not to sound as tense as he felt. He failed miserably.

His tone wasn't lost on Sam - the youngest Winchester quirked an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. Irrational irritability wasn't exactly unusual in Dean, but Sam couldn't for the life of him understand what the problem was. He just got lucky with a pretty girl, after all, and that usually put him in a good mood for days.

He was curious as hell, but Sam didn't poke the beehive right away. He got dressed first, thinking it over while Dean escaped into the bathroom for a shower of his own.

Despite Dean's best efforts to hide it, Sam had noticed lately that something was eating at his big brother - he just didn't know exactly what. At least not for sure, anyway. But he was starting to think the odds were pretty good the problem stemmed from his confession after their night at the Roosevelt Asylum.

He didn't blame Dean, really - it couldn't have been easy to have your baby brother quite deliberately try and shoot you with your own gun, then confess he's been in love with you for nearly ten years. Dean was allowed to be tense. Sam just wanted him to  _say_  so.

"So you wanna tell me what's up?" he asked, when Dean finally emerged from the bathroom.

"What makes you think something's up?" Dean dumped his armful of dirty laundry at the foot of his own bed, trying to sound nonchalant. The way every muscle in his body tensed gave him away, though.

"Something's wrong, Dean. I can see that. And it's been wrong for a while now." Sam pressed, frowning as he watched Dean grab the open bottle of bourbon on his way over to the couch. He collapsed down onto it with a sigh, feet and head on the armrests, and stayed stubbornly silent. He evidently didn't want to talk, but Sam wasn't going to let him get away with that.

"I  _knew_  I shouldn't have said anything back in Rockford. Look, if you've changed your mind and you don't feel comfortable-" he began, but Dean cut him off.

"No, Sam - it's not that." Even as frustrated and wound up as Dean was, he didn't want Sam to think his big brother's personal dramas were on him. It wasn't the kid's fault Dean was in love with him.

"Really?" Sam didn't sound at all convinced.

"Really. It's not." Dean took another swig of bourbon, grimacing as it scorched his throat on the way down. It wasn't exactly top-shelf stuff, and he wrinkled his nose as set it on the coffee table.

"So what  _is_  it?" Sam sat on the end of his bed, looking intently across the five feet of carpet to his big brother. "Talk to me, Dean. This isn't going to work if we can't talk."

Dean groaned, searching the peeling paint on the roof for an answer. "I don't know, Sam - just seeing you with that guy tonight, man..." He didn't even know how to put this feeling into words. The word that fit best was 'jealousy', really, but he couldn't tell Sam  _that_ …

"Jackson?" Sam frowned, confused. "You didn't even see anything. We went outside before we…" He trailed off, and his eyes widened as he put the pieces together. "You came by here earlier, didn't you? I thought I heard the Impala, but I was - distracted - at the time." Sam said, mentally going over his time with Jackson. He'd heard that engine when he shoved Jackson up against the wall…

 _Oh God._ That's _what he saw._

"Yeah - 'distracted' is the word." Dean sniffed.

"What exactly did you think I meant when I said I was bi, Dean? That I was with these other guys for the hand-holding?" Sam asked stiffly. He wasn't actually sure why he was the one feeling embarrassed; it was Dean's problem, not his. And quite honestly, after how well the whole "I'm bisexual" conversation had gone, he expected better.

Dean looked at him witheringly. "I'm under no illusions about that - believe me - but I just never expected to  _see_  it." He winced even as the words came out of his mouth, quite sure he'd somehow just made things worse but drunk enough that it took him a couple of seconds to figure out exactly how.

Sam just stared at him for a second, absorbing that, and when he finally spoke his voice was noticeably harder. "So it's okay as long as you don't  _see_  it?"

Dean groaned, looking back up at the ceiling. _You're really screwing this up - get your foot out of your mouth…!_

"Sam, that's not what I meant-"

"'Cause you made it pretty damn clear  _you_  didn't want me." There was heat in Sam's voice now, and the glass of water fell from his hand as he suddenly stood up.

"No, Sam - for Christ sakes, it's not that I don't  _want_  you..." Dean got up off the couch to face his baby brother, hands held up with palms out in a placating gesture. It was very much like the one he'd used that day he found out Sam was bi.

"Well what then?" Sam demanded, but Dean didn't answer him right away. He stood there, thinking, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

 _Just say it, Dean_ _:_ _'I love you_ _'_ _._ What was so Goddamn  _hard_  about that?

 _"_ Dean, you told me-" Sam started to go on, but Dean cut him off.

"Will you shut up and let me finish?"

Sam closed his mouth and just glared, waiting, while Dean hesitated. It wasn't because he had to consider these words before he said them - he'd imagined it so many times that, for once, he knew exactly what to say. He just needed a second to scrounge up the balls to do it.

When he spoke again, his voice was softer and more measured. "It hit a nerve when I saw you with him, because ever since we were teenagers,  _I've_  wanted to do that to  _you_."

Dean watched as Sam opened his mouth to fire back with a prepared response to what he expected to hear, and then pause as his mind registered what had actually come out of his brother's mouth.

"So… then… why…?" he whispered, utterly confused.

"Why did I tell you we couldn't?" Dean supplied, noticing that Sam didn't look like he was capable of forming whole sentences just yet. Sam just nodded, his hazel eyes gone as wide as dinner plates.

"'Cause brothers aren't  _supposed_  to do that, Sam. You're supposed to chase anything with a pulse and, as the big brother, I'm supposed to tell you to use protection and keep you away from jailbait and stuff. You should be out flirting with waitresses with daddy issues, not in bed with your big brother." There was a pang in Dean's chest as he said the words. He  _w_ _anted_  to be in bed with Sam -  _so much_  - but he could do better.  _Should_  do better.

Sam saw the pain on Dean's face, and his look of surprise slowly started to become one of apprehension, and then realisation as he worked out where this was going. "Look, Dean, I've felt this way for years. That's not changing. But you obviously feel it too, and I don't understand why we can't do this if we both feel that way!" Sam was trying to keep a lid on it, but his voice was tight and there were tears welling up in his eyes.

"You can do better than me, Sam. I don't want you to get stuck in this life." Dean told him, trying real hard not to listen to that little voice inside his head that told him he was a jackass for doing this to his baby brother.

"God, Dean, will you stop being practical and heroic and just  _listen_  to me?" Sam demanded, then paused and made a visible effort to get himself under control. He dropped his head and took a few deep breaths, and when he looked up again the expression of pain and desperation on his face nearly broke the last lingering thread of Dean's resolve.

"I don't  _want_  to do better. I don't want to date waitresses or receptionists, or freaking dental hygienists, Dean. I want  _you_." Sam tried to keep it together, but his voice cracked and the tears spilled over, and Dean almost gave in then. Almost.

"What if it doesn't work, Sam?" he asked, as gently as he could. "What if we try this, and it falls apart? We couldn't just go back to the way we were." He didn't actually say the words, but Sam understood exactly what Dean meant:  _I love you, and I want to be with you, but I won't. It's for your own good._

Sam stared him in shock for a long moment, tears streaming down his cheeks, not quite able to believe what his big brother was doing to him. Dean couldn't have hurt him more, short of actually physically tearing his freshly-broken heart from his chest.

He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again. He caught his bottom lip between his teeth and looked away from Dean, and his eyes went out of focus as he thought. Then he turned slowly, with a resigned look on his face that made Dean suddenly uneasy, and knelt down to start packing up his clothes into his duffel.

It took Dean's bourbon-soaked brain a second to realise what was going on in his little brother's head, but when he did, that feeling of unease threatened to turn into full-blown panic. "Sam - wait." Dean reached out and laid a hand on Sam's shoulder, but he immediately shrugged it off.

"No. We're through the looking glass already. There's only one way this can end now." Sam didn't turn to face Dean, but his voice was tight as he kept stuffing clothes into his bag. "If you don't want to be with me, I can't stay; I can't ride around the country with you in the Impala, staying in these tiny motel rooms. I can't pretend I don't know how Goddamn close I came to having the only thing I ever really wanted."

"Christ, Sam - you don't have to  _leave_!" Dean's heart started pounding like a jackhammer in his chest as the reality of the situation hit home. The only person he had left in the world was about to walk out the door, and Dean was going to fucking  _let_  him.

Sam stood and looked him straight in the eye with such intensity that Dean thought he was about to hit him. "I don't  _want_  to leave, Dean, but I can't hide how I feel anymore and I can't pretend we didn't have this conversation." Sam stared for a few seconds more, waiting for him to reply.

Although Dean knew exactly what to say to stop him going, he couldn't bring himself to say the words. "We just  _can't_." Dean told him, quietly. Sam deserved better than what Dean could give him, and if that meant he had to leave, then...

Sam gave him a sad little smile, his eyes still shining with tears. He tried to blink them away, but Dean heard the catch in his voice as he bent down to pick up his duffel and backpack. "If you loved me, you wouldn't let me go." Sam told him, as he shrugged into the backpack and hoisted the duffel over his shoulder. He didn't sound angry, or bitter - just sad. As far as Dean was concerned, sad was worse.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I wish I could give you what you want." he said, as Sam walked past him to the kitchen table and picked up the unopened bottle of bourbon Dean had brought home with him.

"Yeah, me too." Sam sighed, and tucked the bottle into his duffel. "So, I'm going to go and get a room for the night and try and hitch a ride tomorrow morning." He paused, looking at Dean, hoping for a last-minute change of heart. He didn't get it.

Dean didn't stop Sam leaving. He let him walk right out the door into the cold Illinois night.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Dean closed the door and went over to the coffee table to retrieve the half-empty bottle of bourbon. There was still plenty left to drink himself into a nice, comfortable stupor, and he poured a good three-fingers worth into a relatively clean-looking motel glass, trying to ignore his shaking hands.

He downed half the glass in one shot, then went over to the window and pushed the curtain aside with a finger. It was a cold, misty night out there, but he watched through the haze as Sam opened the door to his new room. It was down the other end of the complex, as far away from Dean as he could get.

Dean left the window and sat heavily back on the couch. His throat was still burning, so he took a shot at putting out the fire with what was left in his glass.

As he sat there on the couch in the silence and semi-darkness, working his way slowly through the rest of the bottle in two-and three-finger increments, Dean tried to convince himself it was  _because_  he loved Sam that he let him walk. 'If you love something, set it free' and all that crap.

But, deep down, he knew Sam didn't  _want_  to be free. He didn't want to pick up women in bars and coffee shops. Sam had known all along what he wanted.

_And when he finally worked up the courage to say it out loud, you shot him down._

_It's gotta hurt to be rejected by your own brother like that._

Dean poured himself another drink. He downed it in one shot with a grimace, and tried to convince himself his eyes were watering only because of the bourbon, which was clearly rocket fuel in disguise.

"It's for his own good." Dean reasoned, out loud. His voice was rough, and entirely unconvincing even to his own ear.

Sam could do better. He'd almost managed it at Stanford - he found the right girl, had one of the best law schools in the country handed to him on a silver platter… before Dean darkened his doorstep, Sam had built a nice life for himself.

_He should have another shot at normal, and that's not going to happen if he hitches his wagon to yours._

Even as he was thinking it, Dean knew that was bullshit too. Sam had risked everything to tell him what he wanted - he'd made up his mind. He was sure. And Dean wanted it too, just as much.

"So what are you afraid of, Dean? That you'll lose him? 'Cause you did a bang-up job of that all on your own." he growled at himself. Every fibre of his being was aching to get up off the couch and go and tell Sam he'd fucked up, and he wanted to give it a shot. After all, how much worse could things possibly get? Sam was already spending the night in another room and, come morning, Dean was sure he was going to follow through on his promise.

_He'll hitch a ride with God-knows-who to God-knows-where, and that glimpse through the window might be the last time you ever see him._

That thought was more than Dean could bear. He actually felt his chest tighten, and his stomach started tying itself in knots as he pulled his phone out of his pocket.

It was just after 1am when Dean called to apologise, but the younger Winchester didn't answer. It went straight to voicemail.

Dean went over to the window and looked out into the misty night, frowning and tapping his phone absently against his palm. The light was still on in Sam's room, so he was still up - so why wasn't he answering his phone? Had he turned it off deliberately?

Dean's stomach tied itself up even tighter as he thought about that. Had he really fucked this up so badly that Sam wouldn't even  _speak_  to him…?

"He's just across the frigging parking lot. Go and knock on the door, and if he doesn't want to see you, he'll just clock you one." Dean told himself, trying to sound positive. It wasn't convincing. "And besides, how could I possibly screw this up any more than I already have?" he sighed, shoving his phone into his pocket and trying not to think too hard about that.

He shrugged into his coat and went outside into the biting cold of the Illinois night. His boots crunched in the frosty gravel as he walked quickly across the carpark, and his heart rate rose a little with every step. He walked up to the battered green door of Sam's room, and paused for one last deep breath before he knocked.

Dean was surprised when he didn't get an answer to that either. There was still a light on inside, and he could hear the TV. And he seriously doubted Sam could sleep after what had happened earlier.

"Sam?" he called, and knocked again - harder this time. Still no answer. "Dammit, Sam, answer your frigging door." Dean grumbled, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He hit Sam's number on the speed dial, and frowned when it rang out again. He could hear the phone plain as day, chirping away inside Sam's room, but still didn't see any trace of him.

He stood there silently on the doorstep for a long moment, while every instinct he had screamed at him that something wasn't right. Even given his current state of intoxication it didn't take him long to pick the old lock, and he had the door open after only a handful of seconds. His stomach turned as he tasted a familiar, unmistakable metallic tang on the air: blood.

"Sam?" Dean called warily, stepping inside. The room was dim, the only light coming from the TV and a bedside lamp, and he had to flick on the light switch by the front door before he saw Sam's phone on the kitchen table next to a half-finished bottle of bourbon - the one he'd taken with him as he left. His heart leapt up into his throat when he noticed the little orange prescription bottle laying on its side nearby.

Dean recognised the pill bottle. It was his, and had contained the remains of the Percocet he'd been prescribed after a mishap on a hunt about six months back. There had been five left in the bottle, which Dean was saving for his next episode of hurts-like-hell, but it was empty now. The pain those pills were intended for had been no joke, and the maximum dose was supposed to be 6 tablets per day. On their own, not enough for an overdose. But, with half a bottle of bourbon for them to swim in…

Dean remembered that look of finality and resignation on Sam's face when he'd walked out earlier, and his stomach started tying itself in knots all over again. He walked further into the room, but there was no sign of Sam - or, more worryingly, of his silver Taurus.

_You would've heard a gunshot-_

Dean slammed the door on that line of thought almost before he was finished thinking it. He refused to even  _consider_  that Sam had shot himself, because that would be game over. He wouldn't screw that up, and that thought scared the hell out of Dean - mostly, because it wasn't that far-fetched.

The kid had no-one left. Their mom was dead, as was Jess, and John was in the wind…

 _You're it, Dean_ _\- y_ _ou're all he's got. Well, all he_ had _._

An icy little shiver ran down his spine as he looked around Sam's deathly quiet motel room, thinking that over. Then his gaze settled on the bathroom, and the bottom fell out of his stomach. The light was on inside, and the door was open just enough for him to see an ankle and its accompanying size 14 sneaker lying on the tiled floor.

"Sam!" Dean ran for the bathroom, but the second he shoved the door open and took a running step inside, his feet went out from under him. He grabbed for the doorframe, but his bourbon-dulled reflexes weren't quick enough and he landed hard on the tiled bathroom floor, his left side taking the brunt of the impact. It drove the air from his lungs as his head bounced off the floor and then everything went dark, like someone had flipped a switch and turned the lights out.

Dean lay there on the cold floor, winded and very confused. It was a good twenty seconds before he could open his eyes, and he rolled onto his back with a groan, wincing as his left shoulder blossomed into agony. He could see a towel rack on the wall above him and briefly considered pulling himself up with it, but he was seeing two of them, and they were swimming around most disconcertingly. So Dean struggled up into a sitting position on his own,  _very_ slowly, and propped himself up on his right arm as he held his left close to his body.

When his vision cleared enough that he was finally able to take a look around, he forgot all about his shoulder.

Sam was on the floor, slumped in the corner where the bath met the wall. His eyes were closed, legs stretched out in front of him and his arms hung limply at his sides. There were two long gashes on the inside of both his forearms, and an old, razor-sharp Bowie knife lay on the floor beside him. The youngest Winchester was as white as the wall tiles, and the floor was scarlet - Dean was horrified to realise he had slipped over in a pool of his brother's blood.

Dean made a little choking noise and scrambled across the slippery floor to kneel beside his brother, jeans soaking in the warm, red pool on the floor around him. He pressed two fingers to Sam's neck, searching desperately for a pulse, but his own heart pounding like a jackhammer made it hard.

"Where the fuck is it?" Dean swore, trying not to panic. He knew exactly where that pulse should be, but he  _couldn't_ _fucking_ _feel_ _it_ and he was trying really,  _really_ hard not to notice how cold and white Sam's skin was.

He repositioned his fingers once, and again, then blew out a little sigh of relief when he found it. He had a pulse. Sam _had a pulse._ It was slow and thready, but it was there, and that meant there was still time.

Dean pulled out his phone and dialled 911, then put it on speaker and set it on the edge of the sink. The operator answered as he tore two starchy white motel towels from that rack on the wall, wrenching it almost completely off the tiles, and he gave her all the information she asked for while he wrapped his little brother's wounded arms tight, grimacing as he got a close-up look at Sam's handiwork.

People called it 'cutting your wrists', but that didn't do this justice. These weren't shallow scratches done by an angsty schoolgirl with the compass from her pencil case. Sam had carved open the inside of both forearms, wrist to elbow on the left and half that on the right. Every beat of his heart sent fresh blood spilling from the clean, straight edges of the wounds, like little scarlet waterfalls.

"Dammit, Sam, what the hell were you thinking?" Dean tore his belt out of his jeans and tied off the towel on Sam's right arm as best he could. He undid Sam's belt too and used that to bind the towel to his left arm, then crossed his arms over his chest and held them there. The cuts looked deep, and the towels were turning red at an alarming rate. The ambulance was coming, so the 911 operator had said, but as far as Dean was concerned it wasn't coming fast enough.

"It figures that I have my frigging epiphany, and then come over here and find  _this_." Dean sat on the floor, bracing himself against the bath. He watched Sam's chest rise and fall slowly, an eternity between each breath, and wiped beads of sweat from his forehead with the back of his shaking left hand.

"You know I was coming to tell you I changed my mind, right?" Dean said softly, even though he was pretty sure Sam couldn't hear him. He leaned over and took his pulse again - it was still weak, but it was there.

"Don't you dare die on me, Sam. Not now. Not before I get a chance to fix this." Dean told him, as the sound of approaching sirens reached his ears.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean was pacing the hospital hallway like a caged lion when the doctor came to see him.

Dr. Hansen was a middle-aged man with a tennis player's tan, short blonde hair, and tired, Nordic-blue eyes behind wire-frame glasses. Dean only noticed because they suddenly went really wide when the doctor saw him.

The eldest Winchester was  _covered_  in blood. Not just splattered, or smeared with it where he'd wiped his hands on his clothes - it looked like he'd been rolling around in a pool of it. Which, in point of fact, he had.

As soon as he saw Dr. Hansen, Dean's heart leapt into his mouth. The doctor's expression was unreadable, and it suddenly occurred to him that this random doctor in this random hospital might be about to tell him Sam had just bled to death.

Ever since the paramedics appeared in the doorway of Sam's room, Dean had been telling himself his baby brother was going to be okay. There was a pulse, he'd staunched the bleeding, called the ambulance… Sam was going to be okay. He  _had_  to be okay.

Dean had followed the ambulance to the hospital in the Impala, been banished from the resuscitation bay, and then spent the last 45 minutes pacing up and down the taupe hallway outside, and the whole time he'd been telling himself it would be okay. It was going to work out. He'd found Sam in time.

He didn't stop repeating that long enough to consider the alternative, because he couldn't deal with that. He couldn't deal with the thought that Sam might not live to hear him say he was sorry, and that he'd fucked up - and that he understood why Sam had felt the need to come clean after the Roosevelt Asylum and started this whole drama.

Now, as he stood in front of the ER doctor with his hands shaking and his heartbeat pounding in his ears, the worst-case scenario was  _all_  he could think about.

_What if you were too late?_

There had been so much blood on the floor...

_What if he didn't make it, even after you found him alive?_

Dr. Hansen glanced down at the chart in his hands and opened his mouth to speak, but Dean jumped in before he could get a word out. "How's Sam?" he asked anxiously, trying not to choke on the words. The doctor's expression didn't change as he looked back up at Dean, and it seemed like  _forever_  until he spoke.

"He's alive. He's having a blood transfusion now, but he should be fine."

"Oh thank God." Dean whispered, letting his eyes fall closed as he released the breath he'd been holding. Knowing Sam was going to be okay was like a physical weight being lifted off his chest. He was going to get a chance to fix this monumental fuck-up.

Dean rubbed at his tired eyes, taking a few calming breaths and feeling the tension drain from his body. It took him half a minute to realise Dr. Hansen was talking to him.

"-lost nearly half his blood volume before we got the bleeding completely under control." the doctor was saying. Dean looked up, blinking.

"Are you okay, son?" he asked, peering at Dean over his glasses. His eyes were on the bruise on Dean's left temple, and the way he was holding his left arm close to his body.

"I'll be fine." Dean replied, dismissively. He was so exhausted, emotionally and physically, that he didn't even bother to be sarcastic about it. And besides, ' _S_ _ure, my brother just almost bled out in my arms - I'm awesome!'_  didn't seem like an appropriate thing to say to the man that just saved Sam's life.

"You don't _look_  fine." Dr. Hansen observed, and Dean sighed.

"I found Sam in the bathroom, and there was…" He paused for a second, taking a steadying breath, "...there was blood all over the floor. I slipped."

The doctor nodded thoughtfully, still studying him. "Why don't you let me check you over?" he offered. Dean started to politely decline, but Dr. Hansen wasn't going to let him get away that easily.

"Sam's unconscious at the moment, and he'll be going up for surgery soon - there's nothing you can do for him right now. Let me check you for concussion and x-ray your shoulder so we can be sure nothing's broken, and if that's all clear, I'll leave you to brood in peace." he said. Dean didn't quite crack a smile, but his expression lightened for a second.

"Can I see him first?" he asked, hopefully. Dr. Hansen nodded, and led him through to the resuscitation bay - all the room's windows were covered in blinds, so this was the first time Dean had seen it or his brother since the nurses had herded him outside almost an hour ago.

Dean was surprised at how much blood there was in the room. He could smell it on the air, and it stuck in the back of his throat - that same coppery tang as had been in the motel room. It tasted like he was sucking on a penny.

The towels he'd wrapped Sam's arms in were in a pile under the bed, there were bloody gauze pads on the floor, and the sheets were covered in blood smears. Sam was smothered in a pile of blankets, but Dean saw he still had his own clothes on and he knew those were soaked in blood as well.

He took a long, slow breath and went over to his brother's side. There was an oxygen mask over Sam's mouth and nose and an IV stand beside him, where a half-empty plastic bag fed red blood into plastic tubing that ran into the back of his hand. Dean took his hand gently - he was still pale, but he wasn't so cold anymore.

"Jesus Christ, Sam, you scared the crap out of me." he said, softly. Sam didn't move - just kept breathing, deep and regular. If he weren't so pale, he could just be sleeping.

"Do you know what happened to make him do this?" Dr. Hansen asked, coming over to stand just beyond the foot of Sam's bed.

Dean chewed on his bottom lip, considering his response. "He told someone he loved how he felt about them, and they kind of shot him down." he said, eventually, and Dr. Hansen nodded.

"You know, your brother is very unusual." he said, and Dean couldn't help but smile a little at that. The doctor didn't even know the  _half_  of it.

"I don't see a lot of suicides by wrist cutting - there are faster, more certain methods, such as firearms - but the successful ones I've seen do what Sam did." Dr. Hansen went on. "He got it exactly right: deep, straight cut along the vein that opened the artery underneath, almost all the way from wrist to elbow. He  _meant_ it."

"What do you mean 'he meant it'?" Dean looked up at the doctor, frowning.

"Only that there were no hesitation marks. Usually, people have to try a few times before they really draw blood - you see a handful of shallow, parallel cuts next to the main wound. But Sam didn't do that; he only made one, continuous cut on each arm." he explained, and Dean winced as he imagined that. That was probably why Sam had taken his Percocet - it would've hurt like hell, otherwise.

"So will he have any permanent damage? Don't people cut tendons and nerves and stuff?" Dean asked, looking at the thick white bandages covering Sam's arms. The tendons and nerves ran along a similar path to the blood vessels, he knew, and he really hoped Sam hadn't done any real damage in a fit of stupidity.

"By some miracle, it looks like he missed the nerves totally on both arms and only nicked a couple of tendons in the left." Dr. Hansen assured him. "Those will be surgically repaired, and although a plastic surgeon will probably close the wounds, there'll be some scarring. There's no way around that, but it will be as minimal as we can make it. Overall, with some physical therapy, his recovery should be relatively fast. Medically speaking, anyway - we'll see what the psychiatrist has to say when he wakes up."

Dean winced again.  _Shrinks. Awesome._

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

When Sam woke up the following morning, the first thing he saw was Dean. He was sitting beside the bed, next to an IV stand. And a heart rate monitor. Which would make this a hospital.

_Fuck._

"What are you doing here?" he rasped, and Dean wordlessly held out a spoonful of ice chips in lieu of a reply. Sam accepted it after a moment's hesitation, but couldn't or wouldn't meet Dean's gaze.

"Do you remember what happened?" Dean asked, looking just as uncomfortable as Sam felt.

"I remember." Sam told him, his voice soft and scratchy. He was well aware of what he'd done.

"Well, you're going to be fine. You had surgery earlier to repair the wounds, and you didn't damage anything important." Dean paused, chewing on his lower lip. "You scared the hell out of me, Sam." he said, quietly.

Sam gave a contemptuous sniff, shifting restlessly in his bed. "Didn't think you cared."

That stung Dean, and he had to make a conscious effort not to snap at Sam.  _He doesn't need that right now,_  Dean reminded himself. Sam was getting better, but he still didn't look good - there were dark circles like bruises around his eyes, his lips were dry, and he was still a little pale despite the transfusion.

"Bullshit. You  _know_  I care." Dean said instead, as calmly as he could manage. There were still hard edges to his words, and Sam noticed.

"How do I know that?" he shot back, making no such effort to spare Dean's feelings. "I told you I loved you, and you let me walk away." He looked like he was about to cry again.

Dean took a deep breath before he replied.  _Don't be an ass. He's hurting as much as you are._

"Look, when you … when we were talking last night, it got really real really fast, okay?" He twitched his uninjured right shoulder in a shrug and looked at Sam, who refused to meet his eyes. "I never wanted to hurt you-"

Sam cut him off before he could finish. "Well you did." he bit back.

"Yeah." Dean sighed, looking at the bandages on his little brother's forearms. He could still see the open wounds in his mind's eye, pulses of red blood spilling out with every heartbeat, and he had to look away.

"Why did you do this, Sammy?" he asked, gently. He just couldn't get mad at Sam right now, no matter how much he snapped.

Sam sighed, regarding the wall behind his big brother with dull eyes as he thought about that. "I came  _so close_ , Dean. I finally bit the bullet and told you I love you, then I find out you feel the same way - but you  _choose_  not to act on it. You made it clear you didn't want me, and I can't be near you and know I almost had everything I ever wanted." he said, bitter edges to his words.

"But, turns out being without you altogether is just as bad. I was desperate, and you know what they say about desperate times…" Sam shrugged and trailed off, looking away.

He didn't say it, and he didn't even mean to imply it, but Dean knew what that meant. He'd been thinking it himself for about the last twelve hours.

_You drove your baby brother to attempt suicide._

The thought actually caused him physical pain, deep in the centre of his chest, like someone stabbing at his insides with that goddamn Bowie knife.

"You think it would be any easier for me to be without you?" Dean asked softly, as he stared down at his boots - covered in dried blood - and tried to blink away the tears that stung his eyes. As Sam watched, one got loose and fell onto his sleeve.

That was something of a reality check for Sam. Honestly, he hadn't stopped to consider  _what_  Dean would do if he'd actually bled out. Between the pills, the overwhelming desire to end the pain, and the half-bottle of bourbon, he never really imagined the effect his suicide might have on his brother.

He actually looked at Dean for the first time then - not just in his direction,  _at_  him - and got a bit of a shock. Dean was a mess. His bleary, bloodshot eyes told Sam he'd hardly slept last night, his grey t-shirt and charcoal-coloured coat had an alarming amount of blood on them, and his left arm was cradled in a blue sling. Dean hadn't actually broken anything - just badly bruised his shoulder when he hit the floor, and probably bruised a couple of ribs as well - but Dr. Hansen had given him the sling to support his arm and make him more comfortable.

Sam didn't notice, but Dean was also now wearing the old, faded jeans he kept in the Impala for emergencies. His favourite jeans were now roughly folded and sitting on the floor at the end of the bed, awaiting a plastic biohazard bag and a trip to the hospital's incinerator. They were so thoroughly saturated with blood that the hospital had deemed them 'medical waste', and Dean had no intention of letting Sam see them. He didn't need to imagine Dean kneeling next to him in a pool of his own blood.

"I'm sorry I hurt you, Sam, but Jesus Christ…" Dean continued, after a long pause. "I wish you'd  _told_  me you didn't feel like you had any other way out. If I hadn't gone looking for you…" He shuddered. Sixty seconds later and he wouldn't be sitting here having this awkward conversation. He'd be making arrangements for his baby brother's funeral instead.

"You came to find me?" Sam asked, surprised.

"Of course I came to find you. I couldn't let you leave." Dean replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"You seemed fine with it earlier." Sam frowned, confused by this sudden 180 in Dean's attitude. He hadn't expected that, really, but it made sense that Dean would be the one to find him… who else would even go looking?

"I never wanted to let you go, you dumbass. I should, and I thought I could, but I can't." Dean scratched absently at his left arm. "But you deserve better than me, you know." he added

Sam groaned, looking up at the ceiling. Once again, the gaping chasm where Dean's self-esteem should have been was sucking all the good things out of his brother's life.

"I don't  _want_  anyone else."

Dean gave a small, mirthless chuckle. "Yeah, you made that pretty Goddamn clear." He dropped his head and rubbed at his red, tired eyes with his right hand. There was still dried blood under his fingernails and around the cuticles.

Sam watched his big brother silently for a long moment. He looked drained and exhausted, and Sam was starting to suspect he hadn't left this room since they'd brought him up here. He'd obviously had the night from hell, and Sam was starting to feel kind of bad for putting him through it.

"I'm sorry I did this, Dean, but I didn't see another option. I couldn't live without you and I just wanted to stop it hurting." he said, softly.

That just broke Dean's heart. He'd rejected Sam and backed him into such a tight, dark corner that he felt he had no other way out. And now  _Sam_  was apologising to  _him_.

"Come on, Sam - it's not your fault. I don't blame you for trying to stop it hurting." Dean told him. "I didn't help any, trying to do the right fucking thing like that. I was an idiot." He closed his eyes again, and winced as he remembered the desperation on Sam's face as he tried to convince his big brother to  _try_.

"Yeah, you kinda were." Sam agreed, and Dean looked up at him in surprise.

"Thanks." he said, drily, narrowing his eyes.

Sam gave him a very small, very tentative smile. "So what changed your mind?" he asked.

"I did some thinking after you left. I was trying to convince myself I was doing you a favour - I love you, so I should set you free, you know?" Dean said, completely unaware of the sudden warmth it brought Sam to hear him say 'I love you' so casually. It brought a genuine smile to his face, but Dean didn't see it.

"But that's a load of crap." Dean sighed, staring down at the hospital blanket on Sam's bed. "You don't want to be free, and even if it didn't work out and we had to go our separate ways, how is that any worse than what was already happening? I was already gonna lose you, so why not?"

"'Why not'. 'Cause that's what a guy wants to hear." Sam said, and almost got a smile from Dean. "So we're going to try?" he went on, trying not to sound as excited as he was.

"We are." Dean confirmed. "I mean, if you still want me." he added, this time unable to stop a smile gently lifting the corners of his mouth. "But, all jokes aside, you gotta promise me one thing first." he went on, more seriously.

"What's that?" Sam raised a wary eyebrow.

"If it goes sideways, no matter what happens, you have to promise me you won't do anything like this ever again."

"I won't." Sam replied, immediately.

Dean leaned forward, looking intently at his baby brother. "Seriously, Sam. I can't go into this with that hanging over my head, okay? I can't know that if I screw up again, you might… do something stupid." That thought genuinely scared Dean, and Sam could see it in his eyes.

"I won't do that to you." he promised, and Dean heaved a sigh.

"Not for nothing, Sam, but you already nearly did." He didn't have a crystal ball, so Dean would have to take Sam's word for it. "Look, next time I fuck up, just  _tell_ me, okay?" he said, sitting back in his chair. Sam didn't argue - he was acutely aware that Dean wasn't perfect. He just lay there silently, a little smile on his face.

Dean noticed Sam's lack of protest, and narrowed his eyes slightly. He was well aware of the point Sam was trying to make. "Okay, well if we're gonna do this, then you should know I'm no good at relationships." he said, tone serious although his eyes were sparkling. "Most of mine only last one night."

"I know." Sam replied, equally as soberly, as he suppressed a smile. Again, this wasn't news to him.

"I'm terrible at emotional stuff." Dean went on.

"Oh, believe me, I know." Sam replied, that smile slowly creeping across his face.

"I don't remember the last time I bought a girl flowers." Dean was smiling too now.

"I don't want flowers, you freak." Sam laughed, and Dean smiled wider. God, he'd missed that sound.

"So are you done trying to scare me?" Sam asked, eyebrows raised. "Cause I've seen you leave a trail of one night stands all across the country for ten years - at this point, nothing you can say is gonna put me off." Sam's smile turned into a grin, and Dean even allowed himself a little chuckle. Then, he surprised them both by leaning over and placing a soft, lingering kiss on Sam's mouth.

Sam made a small sound of surprise, and his mind just went totally blank. It took him a second to get over the shock before he started kissing back.

As first kisses go, it shouldn't have been awesome. Anyone sitting at the nurses' station outside his room could see everything, Sam's lips were dry and chapped, and neither Winchester had picked up a toothbrush in almost two days. But that stuff didn't matter. For a few seconds, with Dean's lips on his, Sam was in heaven. Soft, silky, marshmallowy heaven.

All they got was a few seconds, though. Both Winchester boys started at the sound of the doorknob turning, and looked over at the door in time to see a couple of orderlies wheel in a gurney - a roommate to fill the second, empty bed in Sam's room. He was an older man, maybe in his fifties, and he looked to be either asleep or sedated, or both.

Dean sat hurriedly back in his chair and glanced over at on Sam, who was staring back at him with wide eyes. He couldn't quite believe Dean had just done that, and even managed to scrounge up enough blood to flush his pale cheeks a rosy pink.

Sam had imagined their first kiss a thousand times, but in none of those fantasies was he laying half-dead in a hospital where the nurses were watching him like hawks. He was still in a state of shock when said nurse, having finished settling his new roommate, came over to check on him.

"How are we feeling, Mr. Burkovitz?" she asked, and it took Sam a second to recognise the alias. Then, a few more to come up with a more appropriate response than ' _I want you to close the blinds and leave me alone with_ _my brother and those marshmallow lips of his_ ' _._

"Oh - um, not too bad, considering." he said, instead, and the nurse nodded as she studied him with deep blue eyes.

"Can I get you anything?" she asked. She was only about 5'5", 100lb soaking wet, and had silky, shoulder-length blonde hair. Her nametag identified her as 'Rachel'.

"Well, I am kinda hungry." Sam replied, hopefully. 'Starving' was probably a more appropriate description - he hadn't had anything to eat in about 24 hours.

"We've got some fruit at the nurses' station." Rachel offered, and Sam smiled.

"That'd be great." he said, genuinely, and she smiled back before she turned to Dean.

"You're the brother, right?"

Dean opened his mouth to answer, noticing the appreciative look in her eye, but Sam got in first. "No - he's the boyfriend." he said, his smile widening. It felt  _good_  to say that out loud.

Rachel stared at Sam for a second, confused, then checked his chart. "Huh. Dr. Hansen distinctly said 'brother'." She made a small notation in Sam's personal information, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice. Sam looked over at Dean, enjoying the amused sparkle in his big brother's eyes.

When she was done writing and checking Sam's vitals, Rachel retrieved the promised fruit - an apple and a banana - from the nurses' station and left it by the bed. Then, with one last, longing look at Dean, she left the Winchester boys alone.

Dean watched her leave, appreciating her backside in the black jeans she wore under her scrub top. When he looked back over at his little brother, intending to offer to peel the banana for him, he almost fell out of his chair.

Sam had already peeled it, and as Dean turned he put it slowly into his mouth. He didn't bite down, though - he just kept pushing the banana deeper, swallowing the entire eight inches down  _whole_  until his lips touched the folded-over skin at its base.

While Dean stared and struggled to pick his jaw up off the floor, Sam extricated the banana and actually started to eat it, a satisfied little smile on his face.


	6. Chapter 6

Sam only stayed in hospital for three and a half days before checking himself out early, against medical advice. He was sick of blood tests, physical therapy and psych assessments (he hated the hospital shrink, too), and everyone watching him like he was about to try and off himself again. The nurses wouldn't even let him close the blinds in his room, being that he was on suicide watch and all, so he hadn't even had any alone-time with Dean. Plus, the hospital food was terrible.

It was getting towards late afternoon when Sam walked out of the fluorescent hell of the hospital and out into the chilly Illinois spring. Dean led the way out to the Impala, carrying a duffel over his right shoulder - he'd refused to leave Sam alone since he'd been admitted, so the only thing either of them had to wear was the emergency clothing they kept in that bag.

The duffel was usually left stuffed in a corner of the Impala's trunk, so the clothes were wrinkled and not exactly daisy-fresh, but they were in better shape than the ones the Winchester boys had been wearing when they arrived, so Sam couldn't complain. And as an added bonus, Dean's old, close-fitting emergency Levi's made his ass look  _spectacular_.

Sam dawdled after Dean, enjoying his freedom and the view of his brother's backside. He couldn't help but smile as he took a deep breath of free air, even if his breath immediately turned to steam when he exhaled. He didn't care that it was freezing, he was just happy to be  _outside._

The eldest Winchester got to the car first, and grinned as he opened the passenger side door for his baby brother. "After you, Samantha." He made a wide, sweeping gesture with his right hand, bowing at the waist slightly. "If I'm opening doors for you, don't you think that makes you the woman in this relationship?" Dean asked brightly, but Sam just rolled his eyes and tried not to smile as he got into the car. He wasn't about to dignify that with a response.

Dean chuckled to himself as he shut Sam's door and threw the duffel into the back, then went around to the driver's side. The inside of both of Sam's forearms were coated in heavy, white dressings, and his left wrist was also immobilised in a plastic splint to allow the tendons to heal - it would be a couple of weeks until that splint came off, and until then Dean was supposed to do all the heavy lifting. Apparently, he had taken that to mean  _all_  the lifting.

Sam was looking out his window and smiling widely when Dean got into the driver's seat and shut the door. "So, what are you so happy about?" Dean asked, as he started the car. He was pleased to see a smile on his little brother's face - after so long tiptoeing around each other and keeping their secrets, it felt good to have cleared away all that stuff that had built up between them.

"This feels like a dream." Sam replied, still smiling.

"You dream about leaving hospital a lot?" Dean quipped, and Sam laughed.

"No, you jackass - being in the car, with you." He paused for a beat before he went on. "Was pretty sure I'd never be here again, one way or the other." he added, more sombrely.

Dean wasn't about to let this turn into  _another_  freaking chick-flick moment. There'd been quite enough of those lately. "You know, that's not what you should've been dreaming about." he replied, and Sam looked over at him quizzically. "The back seat is just the right size for two people-" he went on, grinning, but Sam waved a bandaged hand and cut him off.

"Don't say it. I don't have enough blood in me for that!"

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

When they got back to their motel room, after their customary post-hospital detour to the nearest liquor store, the first thing Sam did was flake out on the nice, soft motel bed with a contented sigh. After the slab of concrete the hospital called a mattress, it was heaven.

"This is  _so_  much more comfortable than that hospital bed. And there are no nurses watching me like hawks." he said, with a smile.

"Who would've thought attempted suicide made people so jumpy?" Dean smiled back as he pulled Sam's sneakers off his feet, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. The whole thing was still just a little too close to home.

" _You_  didn't watch me." Sam pointed out, looking up at him. Dean nodded once, and a shadow passed over his face as he caught his bottom lip between his teeth. Then he seemed to gather himself, and leaned down and kissed Sam gently.

"No, but I know why you did it in the first place, Sammy. And you've got no reason to try it again." he said pointedly, poking Sam in the shoulder for extra emphasis before he stood back up. "So I suppose you'd like your stuff, then?" Dean went on, deftly changing the subject.

"That's be great, yeah." Sam nodded, eyes narrowed slightly as he watched him grab the room key from the emergency duffel.

"Back in a sec." Dean's voice was light, but he looked anxious as he went back out into the rapidly-deepening dusk.

Sam sat up and stared at the closed door, frowning. He could see Dean was tense, and that he was trying to hide it, but he had no idea why. Sam had expected him to be happier and more relaxed when they left the hospital, because that was usually how normal people reacted when they got to go home. Naturally, Dean seemed to have gone the other way entirely.

He'd been happy as a clam on the walk to the car, but Sam felt the tension building in him the whole drive back, increasing as they got closer to the motel. A couple of times, he even heard the Impala's steering wheel creaking under Dean's iron grip.

Sam didn't want to even  _think_  it, but as he looked out the window at Dean walking across the carpark, he couldn't help but wonder if his big brother was only humouring him - pretending to be comfortable in this brand-new relationship of theirs because he couldn't fathom the alternative.

_What if he doesn't want to be in it, but won't say so because he's afraid you'll try and hurt yourself again?_

It hadn't escaped Sam's notice that Dean had hardly touched him over the last four days. A couple of short kisses here and there, a few chance brushes of skin against skin, but that was all. Somehow, Sam had expected… well,  _more_. Granted, the nurses were watching them constantly, but still; Dean wasn't shy. As Sam watched him disappear from view on the far side of the carpark, he felt a seed of doubt growing in his gut.

Meanwhile, Dean - completely unaware of Sam's doubts - was listening to his boots crunching in the gravel and trying to ignore his rising heart rate as he approached his little brother's room. He couldn't help but remember the last time he'd made the trip - the memory of his baby brother laying half-dead on the bathroom floor was still fresh in his mind, in technicolour, and his feet felt as heavy as if they were blocks of cement.

"He wasn't even here that long, Dean." he told himself, trying to ignore the fact his hands were shaking as he stepped up to the faded forest-green door. It took him a couple of tries but he eventually managed to slide the key into the worn lock, which had fresh scratches on the faceplate from where he'd hurriedly picked it the other night. His hands had been shaking then, too.

"Everything's still packed - you've just gotta grab his bags and go. In and out. Easy." He heard the lock click as he turned the key, and paused for a deep breath before he pushed the door open. It swung slowly on its squeaky hinges - a fact Dean had completely missed the other night - and then stopped halfway with a final-sounding  _creak_  that reminded him of every basement door in every horror movie ever.

Dean could deal with horror movie monsters. He did that every day. Running into dark, haunted basements was easy compared to this, and every fibre of his being screamed at him to shut the door and walk away.

Although it was the absolute last thing he wanted to do, he stepped inside anyway. The room was cool and dark, and once again Dean had to flip on the light switch to see anything.

Everything was as it had been. The curtains were shut and the half-empty bottle of bourbon was still on the table - the orange pill bottle was gone, though, taken by the paramedics when they came for Sam. The heavy, metallic smell of blood was still thick in the air, but after three days there was now a stale, slightly rotten tinge to it that made Dean wrinkle his nose in distaste. If not for the recent cold snap keeping Illinois at roughly refrigerator temperature, the smell would have been downright unpleasant.

Once again, Dean stood in the doorway and scanned the room. Sam's duffel and backpack were still sitting at the foot of the bed, and he walked quickly over and picked them up - mercifully, they were still packed and zipped shut - then turned to leave.

He got fully halfway to the door before he stopped and turned towards the bathroom. Despite his better judgement, he just couldn't leave without taking one last look.

His chest tightened as he walked over to stand in the doorway, like there was a giant hand with a death-grip on it, and he was suddenly aware of the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. It felt like his heart was trying to jackhammer its way out of his chest.

The crime scene cleaners hadn't been yet, and the floor was still covered in blood. It was a desiccated, rusty brown now and had cracked a little in places, like drying mud. Dean could hardly believe one person could lose that much blood and not die. It was  _everywhere_.

He saw a few of his own handprints on the walls. Still more on the tiles and fixtures. The thought that they were in his baby brother's blood made him want to throw up.

He tore his eyes away and looked down at the stone-grey carpet, each breath coming as more of a short gasp, and was horrified to see he was standing amongst a mess of bloody footprints. He could clearly see the outline of the boots he was currently wearing, made when he stood in this exact spot after being exiled from the bathroom while the paramedics worked on Sam.

That was the last straw. Dean turned his back on the bathroom, threw Sam's bags over his shoulder, and got the hell out. He didn't even notice if he locked the door behind him - he just wanted to be somewhere  _else_.

As soon as he got back to their room, Sam noticed something was wrong. More obviously wrong than the quiet, simmering tension he'd witnessed earlier. Dean was breathing hard like he'd run across the carpark, he was kind of pale, and there were red patches high on his cheeks that had nothing to do with the cold April air.

"You feeling okay?" Sam asked, sitting up on the bed. Dean didn't answer - he just kicked his bloodstained boots off into the corner. He kicked a little harder than was necessary, and the second boot left a small dent in the plasterboard.

"I've gotta know, Sam - why didn't you shoot yourself?" He all but threw the duffel and backpack onto the floor by his bed, earning him a look of surprise from Sam. "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you didn't, but why? You had your Taurus right there in your duffel." Dean jabbed a finger in the direction of the nickel-plated handgun, just visible in the half-zipped bag.

Sam just looked at Dean for a second with wide, wary eyes. "Bleeding out seemed like a more peaceful way to go. Didn't want the last thing I heard to be a gunshot." he replied slowly and carefully, obviously not thrilled about the direction the conversation was taking.

Dean noticed Sam's lack of enthusiasm, but ignored it. " _Was_  it more peaceful?" he demanded.

Sam considered his answer for a moment before he spoke, and cherry-picked his words. "The pills almost totally killed the pain. I don't remember it really clearly, but it was like drifting off to sleep." he said, honestly. "It was kind of a nice feeling, I think." he added, and immediately wished he hadn't. Dean flinched like Sam had slapped him - hearing him talk about his self-inflicted near-death experience like that made Dean feel sick.

"Well while you were 'drifting off to sleep', things were a little different back here in the land of the living." he snapped, voice hard. He stalked over to the kitchen table and poured himself a whiskey, then drank it down in one shot. It was cheap and nasty, and it _burned_. Enough to make even Dean grimace.

"I'm sorry you had to find me like that, Dean, but I'm just trying to be honest here."

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, eyes closed. "Okay, then - let's be honest. I'll tell you what  _really_  happened." he said, and turned to look at his bewildered little brother.

"You're not answering your phone, so I pick the lock to your room at one in the morning. The place smells like blood, there's an empty pill bottle on the table next to a half-drunk bottle of bourbon, and I can see your foot through the gap in the bathroom door. The only thing I  _can't_  find is your gun." Dean told him, pouring another drink. Sam watched him, imagining the scene in his mind's eye.

"I go running into the bathroom, and fucking  _slip over_  in your blood. You were about the same shade of white as the tiles, and it took me a couple of tries to even find a pulse. I had to wrap your arms in towels to try and stop you bleeding to death before the ambulance could get there." Dean paused to down the second shot.

"Dean-"

Dean grimaced as the whiskey burned his throat, but he went on as if Sam hadn't spoken. "I didn't throw our clothes out because they were a little stained, Sam. The hospital took them and incinerated them because they were  _saturated_  with your blood. While I was sitting next to you on the bathroom floor, I could feel it soaking through to my skin. It was still  _warm_."

Sam regarded Dean in silence for a minute. He was starting to understand. Sure, he'd figured it was traumatic for Dean to find him on death's doorstep, but he obviously hadn't appreciated quite how much.

He opened his mouth to reply - with another apology, probably - but Dean held up a hand and he stayed quiet.

"I know you're sorry. It's okay." Dean took a few deep, calming breaths. " _I'll_  be okay." Just as soon as he stopped seeing that scene every time he closed his eyes, anyway.

"You nearly died in my arms, man. I just need to put a little distance between us and … that. They haven't even cleaned up your bathroom yet." Dean sat at the kitchen table, elbow resting on the tabletop, and rubbed at his forehead like he was getting a headache.

Sam watched as he sighed and screwed the lid back on the whiskey bottle. It was no wonder Dean was upset, really - he'd just revisited one of the worst moments of his life. Sam tried to imagine finding Dean like that, and just  _couldn't_. He couldn't wrap his head around something taking his big brother from him, let alone Dean trying to do it  _himself_...

Dean saw the distressed look on Sam's face, and interrupted his macabre train of thought before it could build up steam.

"Are  _you_  okay being here?" he asked, studying his little brother.

Sam considered that for a moment. Honestly, he didn't mind being back here at this motel, and in this room. He was okay, mostly, and he had Dean - he thought he could easily stay until his wounds were healed enough that they could get back on the road. The notion that he'd almost ended his own life only 100 yards away didn't bother him nearly as much as he expected. But, as he sat there looking at Dean, Sam could see it bothered  _him_. A lot.

Dean obviously wanted nothing more than to put this place in his rear-view mirror and try and forget finding his little brother half-dead on the bathroom floor - a bathroom identical to the one in this room - but he wasn't going to ask Sam to relocate so soon after he got out of hospital. He was prepared to torture himself for as long as it took for Sam to feel better, so as far as the youngest Winchester was concerned, there was only one answer to his question.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Their second motel, halfway across town, was nicer (and more expensive) than the first one. Dean chose it deliberately - if Sam was going to be recuperating here, then they should at least be comfortable.

When Dean opened the door and turned on the lights, Sam did a double take. Instead of two single beds, there was only one - queen size, by the look of it. He turned to look at Dean, who couldn't keep the smile off his face.

"What? You said you wanted to be in my bed, with me." he shrugged, and threw the room key onto the kitchen table. He turned and started back out the door, still grinning.

Sam and his bandaged arms sat on his side of the bed and watched as Dean brought their stuff inside out of the chilly Illinois dusk, leaving it on the floor at the foot of the bed. Even now they were going to share one, the eldest Winchester still claimed the side closest to the door.

As he watched, Sam decided he liked the outfit Dean had put in the emergency duffel. He was never one for regularly doing laundry, so he tended to wear  _everything_  before he was eventually forced to haul it all to the laundromat - consequently, the clothes he'd set aside for emergencies were things he didn't like all that much. Mostly they were pretty plain, and kind of old and worn out. The black hoodie with the broken zip and old grey t-shirt he wore now were fairly unremarkable, but the jeans… Sam liked the jeans  _very_  much.

They were an old pair of bootcut Levi's, and Sam could remember when they were new. Dean found them in a department store bargain bin when he was about 17, drastically discounted because the pull tab was missing from the fly. Some low gauge wire looped through the eye of the slider had fixed that problem until he could get the zip replaced, and Dean found himself with a $40 pair of genuine, brand-new Levi's. Sam, meanwhile, discovered a whole new form of denim-based torture.

Even when he'd been a teenager, much more wiry than he was now, Dean had looked spectacular in those jeans. They fit snugly around his waist, stretched maddeningly over his ass, and hugged his thighs before finally starting to flare out around his knees. They'd been his favourite jeans, and being Levi's, had lasted for freaking  _ever_. They gradually faded, and Dean wore out both knees, but they never stretched out of shape. No matter how much he wore them, his backside always looked amazing. Sam even had wet dreams in which Dean was wearing those frigging jeans.

But Dean had filled out since he'd bought them, and they found their way into the emergency duffel when he was about 22. They were a little too tight to be practical, and John had made him get some new jeans that "didn't make him look like a hobo stripper".

Sam, after he finished laughing at the fact his dad had called Dean a "hobo stripper", had been both relieved and a little sad to see them go. While he was less likely to get caught staring at his brother's ass, he also missed the way it looked under that silvery denim. Sadly, Dean didn't own any other pants that had quite the same effect. But now, as he watched Dean walk back out to the Impala, Sam was pleased to realise that he could stare all he liked.

"Why are you still wearing those jeans? They don't even fit you anymore." he asked, even though he was rather enjoying the show. Those jeans  _were_ too tight, really, but they showed Dean's ass off brilliantly. And, Sam noticed, the bulges and contours in the front weren't looking too bad either. This skin-tight thing was  _definitely_  good.

"Because we desperately need to do some laundry, and they're all I've got that isn't filthy dirty." Dean called back, not catching Sam's meaning.

"Well, in that case, you're not allowed to do laundry ever again." he replied, smiling as Dean came back in with his little brother's bags slung over his right shoulder. The hem of the slightly-too-short grey t-shirt was pulled up just above the Levi's waistband, which sat kind of low - a few inches below Dean's navel, just enough to reveal part of the 'V' of his lower abdominal muscles that disappeared down under it. The faded, well-worn denim clung to every contour of Dean's body, fitting so snugly against his skin that Sam could see the outline of the loose change in his right hip pocket.

Dean looked confused for a second, but a smile spread across his face when he saw Sam's eyes rove all the way down his jeans, and realised what he was getting at. "Are you telling me that for all the years I wore these jeans…" Dean trailed off as Sam started nodding, and a smile spread across his face. He dropped off the bags, turned around deliberately slowly for Sam's benefit, and was still grinning when he went back out to the car for the rest of their stuff.

Sam was at the kitchen sink getting some water to wash down his next round of medication when he heard Dean shut the door, and the last bag - a duffel of weapons - clattered to the floor by the kitchen table. Dean came up behind him, but stopped short of actually making contact. Sam could feel him in his personal space, only a couple of inches away.

He put the glass of water down on the bench and waited, holding his breath, and eventually Dean closed the distance. He pressed up against Sam's back, looping his arms around his little brother's waist. Sam leaned back into him, clasping his hands over his big brother's. He felt the warmth of Dean's body soaking through his shirt, and God, he smelled good - like leather and gunpowder and sweat. He let out a little sigh as Dean kissed the back of his neck. Even that small touch sent bolts of electricity down his spine.

"You should probably be asleep right now." he said, and felt Sam tense. What happened next took him by surprise: Sam turned around, planted both hands on his big brother's chest, and shoved.

Dean took a staggering step back, and grunted in surprise and a little bit of pain when his back slammed into the small dividing wall that separated the kitchen from the living area. A hot bloom of pain had only just started to spread through his injured left arm and side when Sam stepped forward and pressed his body against Dean's.

"What the hell-" he gasped, but Sam cut him off with a kiss. Not a soft little peck on the mouth like Dean had been giving him, but a  _real_  kiss - he crushed his mouth against Dean's like he wanted to touch his soul.

It took a second, but Dean kissed back. He opened his mouth and pressed past Sam's lips with his tongue, and heard Sam make a pleased little sound in the back of his throat when he felt his big brother's hands slide up under his shirt and grasp him by the hips.

Dean's lips muffled Sam's little yelp of surprise when he suddenly reversed their positions, pushing his little brother up against the wall and holding him there. He broke the kiss, but didn't step back - he stayed exactly where he was, and just released his grip on Sam's right side and used only his uninjured arm to pin him in place.

Sam winced. "I didn't mean to hurt you." he said apologetically.

"What the hell was that, then?" Dean demanded, obviously confused. He let go of Sam and rubbed at his injured shoulder, glaring.

"It's just that…" Sam dropped his gaze and let the sentence trail off, trying to work out how to phrase his response so it didn't make him sound as ridiculous as he suddenly felt.

"It's just what?" Dean pressed, and Sam took a deep breath. He was well aware that any way he said this was probably going to make him sound like an insecure sook, so he just went for it.

"Well, it's been four days, and you've kissed me maybe twice. I wondered if, you know… you might be having second thoughts." he admitted. Dean opened his mouth to reply, but Sam went on hurriedly before he could get a word in.

"Cause, you know, I didn't really give you much choice in the matter, did I? I basically told you that if you didn't want to get into a relationship, I was gonna… well, you know." After everything he'd been through to get to this point, Sam could hardly believe these words were coming out of his mouth.

"I can tell you're not comfortable, Dean. I've seen you do more with random waitresses in bars - you wait until you're almost at home plate before you even take them outside, for Christ sakes! You don't get shy and tentative like this  _ever,_ and if you can't do this… that's okay. I'll be okay. Don't do it just for me." Sam took another long, halting breath - he didn't  _feel_  okay. Not by a long shot.

"You done?" Dean asked, raising his eyebrows slightly. Sam nodded, blinking away the tears that stung his eyes. He stood there against the wall, convinced Dean was about to bail on him, and steeled himself while he waited for the hammer to drop.

Dean was quiet for a long moment. Then, he pressed in close against Sam and kissed him.

It wasn't a hard kiss like Sam had just assaulted him with, or a fleeting peck on the lips like he'd been doing for the last four days. He pulled Sam away from the wall and wound his arms around him, feeling his younger brother's lips part under his, and smiled as Sam finally relaxed and melted in his arms.

When they eventually parted, Sam leaned back against the wall and just stared at him with wide eyes, speechless. There were red spots high on his cheeks, and his lips were the colour of ripe strawberries.

"I'm not having second thoughts." There was a little smile on Dean's face as he looked back at his bewildered baby brother. He thought Sam was adorable when he was confused. "Look, I just needed to get used to it. I've spent years trying to repress this stuff, Sammy." Dean rested his hands on his hips again, more gently this time.

"You did it well." Sam had to admit, he never had any idea whatsoever that Dean fancied him.

"I didn't have a choice. Could you imagine what Dad would've done if he'd caught me checking you out?" Dean chuckled, and Sam couldn't help but smile too.

"And you're not just a random waitress in a random bar, Sam. You deserve better than a quickie in the alley out back." Dean said, quieter, and gave him another kiss. Sam pressed forward, trying to deepen it, but Dean pushed him gently back. "And, while we're at it, I'm sorry I went off at you earlier. I was a real ass." he said, resting a hand on Sam's chest.

"It's okay. I get it." Sam replied, trying to keep the smile on his face. He didn't want to have this conversation, and Dean knew it.

"No, Sam, I shouldn't have teed off on you like that. You've been through enough lately." Dean protested, but Sam waved one bandaged hand dismissively.

"It's fine, really - I'm okay." he repeated, more forcefully, but Dean didn't believe that for a second. Sam had spent the last three days ducking both him and the hospital shrink in an effort to avoid this conversation, and Dean was determined to make him talk about it. God knows, the kid must need to.

"You don't do what you did and just come out the other side  _okay_ , Sam." Dean said, and felt him immediately tense. Sam put a hand on the right side of his chest and pushed, trying to slip away, but Dean held him. Sam frowned and tried pushing harder, but Dean still kept him against the wall - this time, with a grunt of pain. If he wanted to go, Dean couldn't stop him - not with one injured arm. But that didn't mean he wasn't going to try.

"Will you let me go?" Sam asked, trying a different tack.

Dean just shook his head and held on. "Nope. You wouldn't talk to the hospital shrink, so you get to talk to me." he said.

Sam sighed, clearly not thrilled with his options. But, given the choice between deliberately shoving Dean in his bruised ribs and talking this out, he figured that talking was the least painful. But only just.

"Look, I understand why you got upset. I think I knew you'd be the one to find me - I mean, nobody else would even go looking. I just didn't think about…" Sam paused, and a pained expression flashed across his face. Now that he had the ball rolling, Dean relaxed and released his grip.

"Dean, if I'd thought it through, I wouldn't have done it. I just wanted to stop it hurting, and I didn't think about what it would be like for you to find me like that." Sam looked away then, scratching at the dressings on his forearms. "I was angry at you for putting me through hell, but then I went and did the same frigging thing to you."

"I don't blame you for trying to stop it hurting." Dean told him, honestly. "I know I pulled the rug out from under you. I don't know how I expected you to stick around after I told you I wouldn't get into a relationship, because I don't think  _I_  could've hung around after that." He paused, searching for the right words.

"We don't have many people left, Sammy. Mom's dead, Dad's God-knows where, and you lost Jess. After I did what I did… I can see how you might think it was easier to take a swan dive off the mortal coil. And it would be. I don't think I would've done much different." Dean admitted. He could appreciate how Sam might have seen suicide as a way out. It scared the hell out of him, but he could understand.

"I should've found a way to deal." Sam sighed, going over to sit on the end of the bed. If they were going to do the heart-to-heart thing, he at least wanted to have a comfortable seat.

"Maybe. But I didn't help you, and I should have." Dean followed him, sitting next to his baby brother as he rubbed at tired, heavy eyes with his bandaged hands. "I was an idiot, and when I finally stopped to think, I realised the balls it took for you to  _tell_  me. And if you were willing to risk everything, why shouldn't I? I was the only thing in our way, and I suddenly didn't even really understand why I was saying no."

Sam looked over at him, trying not to appear as surprised as he felt. It was so rare for them to have a genuine conversation like this - he couldn't remember the last time Dean had opened up without immediately feeling the need to shut the conversation down with a joke, so he didn't interrupt and just let his big brother talk. He obviously needed to.

"I fucked up, Sammy." Dean said, simply. "I was trying to do what I thought was the right thing, and I didn't understand how much it hurt you. I've spent half my life trying to convince myself I  _wasn't_  in love with my baby brother, because that's not what big brothers are supposed to do: I was supposed to look after you, and keep you safe and happy, and it just never occurred to me that the two things weren't mutually exclusive." Dean stared at the carpet, chewing on his lower lip.

"Honestly, I don't know what I expected you to do when I dropped that bombshell. I put a ton of pressure on you when I came clean in Rockford." Sam admitted.

"You're damn right you did!" Dean smiled a little, but the younger Winchester didn't.

"I just couldn't keep it to myself anymore." Sam paused, and a shadow passed over his features. "It's just that when Ellicott possessed me… I was going to kill you, Dean. I really thought that gun was loaded when I pulled the trigger."

That wiped the smile from Dean's face, and it was his turn to listen in silence as his baby brother got some stuff off his chest.

"After that, I had to tell you. I had to make sure you knew how I felt before one or both of us wound up dead. I don't even know what I was trying to achieve - I mean, it would've been amazing if you said you felt the same way, but I think I just needed to stop carrying that secret around." Sam said, stifling a yawn.

"But then I went and told you  _my_  little secret the other night." Dean winced.

"Yeah. That changed things." Sam exhaled slowly. "It was different, thinking you  _couldn't_  give me what I wanted. But when I found out you just  _wouldn't_ … I can't even tell you how much that hurt." His eyes welled up with tears, and he didn't even try and blink them away. A few escaped and rolled down his cheeks, leaving wet trails that shone in the golden late-afternoon light.

"It was like I lost you too, and I can't lose anyone else, Dean.  _I can't do that again_." Sam took a long, halting breath, unconsciously chewing on his bottom lip as he looked at his big brother. It broke Dean's heart to see him in so much pain.

"So yeah, I tried to stop it hurting. I know _you_  would've shot yourself, or driven the Impala off a cliff or something, but I just wanted to go to sleep and never wake up. I knew the Percocet wouldn't be enough, but it killed the pain when I cut my wrists, and that got me what I wanted. I know it scared the hell out of you, but I hardly felt a thing. I just drifted off into unconsciousness, and if you hadn't turned up when you did and saved me, I wouldn't have even known it happened." He paused for another shaky breath.

"I'm sorry, Sam." Dean didn't know what else to say.

"It's okay. If you'd known, you would have done things differently." Sam turned to look at Dean, and gave him a little smile through the tears. "And you  _did_  save me."

"I'm the reason you needed saving. I won't do that to you again." Dean leaned over and pressed his lips to Sam's. He could taste the salt in his tears.

"I know." Sam closed his tired eyes, and just let Dean hold him. "Even if this doesn't work, we tried. I just wanted you to  _try_."

"I'm not about to let you go, Sammy." Dean pushed him gently back down onto the bed. "But I'd like you to be conscious while I'm fucking your brains out, okay? So get some sleep." he added, the hint of a smile on his lips. Sam groaned in protest, but didn't fight it.

"This isn't how I intended this to happen, you know." Sam yawned, as Dean took off his shoes and jeans. He might not have wanted to admit it, but he was  _exhausted_. He'd been tired when they got back to their old motel room, but now he could hardly keep his eyes open.

"Yeah, well, it's your own fault you're asleep on your feet, so suck it up." Dean leaned over and gave him a kiss before he unzipped Sam's jacket. It joined his jeans and shoes on the floor, and he climbed under the covers when Dean pulled them back for him. He was asleep almost before his head touched the pillow.


	7. Chapter 7

When he woke later that evening, Sam found Dean sitting on the couch cleaning their weapons - there were guns and knives and all sorts of other deadly things spread out over their coffee table and the surrounding floor. Just about every weapon they owned, by the look of it.

"Well hello, Sleeping Beauty." Dean didn't turn around when he heard Sam stirring, so the younger Winchester could only  _hear_  the smile on his face.

"Don't think you're going to get away with that crap." Sam warned him, but he was smiling too.

"I got you a sub for dinner -  _Samantha_." Dean went on cheerfully, as if he hadn't spoken. Sam grunted disapprovingly, but the foot-long sub sandwich sitting on the table improved his mood somewhat.

"So how long was I out?" he asked, getting out of bed and into some sweatpants and a clean t-shirt.

"Barely even two hours." Dean replied, as Sam went to sit at the kitchen table.

"It feels like longer than that." Sam observed - he was  _starving_. It felt like he hadn't eaten in days. He unwrapped his sub with hardly any difficulty at all, and sat and watched Dean working while he devoured it.

He methodically disassembled his little brother's nickel-plated Taurus, laying all the pieces out in sequence on an old, soft leather cloth. He scoured the gun's barrel with a small brush, scrubbed out dirt and burned powder from every crevice of each component, then wiped everything down with a cloth - each piece in turn, ritualistically. He blocked everything else out while he was breaking down, cleaning, and reassembling their guns, and Sam had often thought that this was the closest Dean ever came to meditation.

When he was done with his chicken and salad sub, Sam went to sit on the couch beside his brother - his  _boyfriend_  - deliberately closer than he usually would. It was nice to be able to sit so close to Dean without having to worry about arousing suspicion.

"You need something, Sam?" Dean asked, starting to put the youngest Winchester's silver handgun back together. He was smiling as he said it, applying small beads and thin streaks of oil to the moving parts as he clicked them back into place. Sam had no qualms about letting Dean clean his weapon - he knew the job would be perfect, every time.

He picked up the empty clip from the table turned it over in his hands. "Don't let me stop you. I wouldn't want to interrupt your meditation time here…" He trailed off into a sigh as Dean leaned over and kissed him softly. Every time he did that, Sam's mind just went totally blank.

"I wouldn't worry about that." Dean murmured, smiling against Sam's lips. "So, feeling better, are we?" he asked, turning back to the gun.

"I am, yeah." Sam put the clip back on the table and let his hand rest on Dean's thigh as he continued reassembling the gun.  _High_  on his thigh. Dean didn't miss the message.

"You sure you're up to it?" he asked, not taking his eyes off the Taurus. He was trying to sound nonchalant, but he was obviously stalling - Sam was sure of that. He just didn't know  _why_.

Sam studied him for a long moment, eyes narrowed slightly as he thought it over.  _It's not because he doesn't want to be in the relationship - we sorted that out already. And it's not because he's hurt, because he'd have to be unconscious in intensive care to pass up sex..._

Dean could all but hear the wheels turning in Sam's head, and he sighed. "Look, don't overthink it, okay? It's got nothing to do with you."

"So what is it then?" Sam asked. Dean was quiet for a bit, turning the almost-complete Taurus over and over in his hands as he searched for the right words. It seemed like every second conversation he had lately was a frigging chick-flick moment, but this one was downright  _awkward_.

"It's not like I haven't tried it before, but… well, I only did it once. It hurt more than I wanted, and I just couldn't relax with that guy on top of me." Dean shrugged, avoiding Sam's gaze. "You've gotta realise, Sammy, I'm not bisexual - not like you are. I'm not interested in other guys. It's just  _you_." He eventually looked up to find Sam smiling at him, and smiled a little himself before he looked back down at the gun. "I don't know. Maybe it'll be different with you."

"You'd let me top?" Sam asked, trying not to sound surprised. He was better suited to being on the bottom, and just figured his naturally-dominant big brother would be on top. But, at the same time, he didn't want to just come out and  _say_  that; if those words actually came out of his mouth, he knew Dean would never let him forget it.

Dean could read between the lines, though, and he understood exactly what Sam was saying. "Of course I would." he said, a wolfish smile spreading across his face.

"Because, you know, what you saw with Jackson… that's not how it usually is." Sam went on hurriedly, trying not to put too fine a point on it.

The smile didn't leave Dean's face, but he thought his next sentence over before he spoke. "I know. I saw the videos." he said, and Sam just blinked at him a few times.

"You saw the videos." he repeated, furrowing his brow as he thought about that. "I'm gonna need a little more than just-" He stopped suddenly, his eyes opening  _v_ _ery_  wide as he connected the dots. "Oh shit - the videos on the  _laptop_?" he groaned, starting to blush a little. Dean just nodded, smiling a little as he remembered.

"When?" Sam cringed as he remembered the things in those videos too. It had been fun, sure - that's why he kept the videos in the first place - but he didn't ever intend for  _Dean_  to see them…!

"Oasis Plains." Dean replied brightly, putting the slide back into place with a metallic  _snap_. He loved his little brother, but it was still fun to make him squirm. And, as far as he was concerned, Sam was adorable when he was blushing like this. The younger Winchester didn't agree, but for Dean, that was all part of the fun.

"So, when I came to get the laptop off you…" Sam looked at him, and he nodded.

"Yep."

Sam took a long, deep breath.  _Holy shit, Dean was getting off on your sex tapes…!_

"All of them…?" He almost didn't want to know, but he asked anyway.

"I only saw part of one that night - 'Blake'?" Dean replied, eyebrows raised suggestively. Sam groaned again, blushing deeper, and Dean chuckled.

"Yeah, well, apparently I wasn't the only one that got off on it." Sam pointed out, elbowing Dean in his uninjured right side. The eldest Winchester just sat there, smiling - he couldn't argue with that.

"You know, all you had to do was ask and I would've done it for  _you_." Sam said, softer, and Dean exhaled slowly as he felt that hand on his thigh move up a little, rubbing gently. The gun fell out of his hand and clattered onto the table, and Sam let out a little yelp of surprise as Dean turned and pushed him back into the corner of the couch.

He crushed his mouth down on Sam's, reflecting briefly that he really liked the way his little brother  _let_  him do it. He might be the 'little' brother, but he was bigger and if he wanted to be on top there wasn't a whole lot Dean could do about it. But Sam didn't want to be on top.

He let Dean pin him down, breaking the kiss just long enough pull the younger Winchester's t-shirt off over his head. Dean unconsciously licked his lips as he ran a hand over Sam's chest, stroking his collarbone as he leaned back down for another kiss. "Do me a favour?" Sam asked, his voice hardly more than a whisper.

"Mmm?" Dean murmured, busy laying a trail of kisses along Sam's jaw and down his neck. The skin was smooth, and slightly salty, and he really liked the way Sam smelled when he hadn't had a shower in 36 hours.

"Pinch me? I wanna be sure this is real." Sam groaned the words more than speaking them, letting his head fall to the side to give Dean better access to the soft, sensitive skin of his throat. Each light touch of Dean's lips on his skin was electric.

The eldest Winchester let out an evil little chuckle, and Sam gasped as he bit him instead. Dean soothed the nipped skin with a kiss, smiling all the time, before he hooked a couple of fingers under the front of the waistband of his baby brother's jeans and dragged him over to the bed - _their_ bed - and pushed him back onto it.

He stripped Sam's jeans off, and then climbed onto the bed and straddled his hips. Sam watched, mesmerised, as Dean dragged his shirt off over his head. He'd seen this moment in his dreams a hundred times, and he smiled as he watched the muscles rippling under Dean's tanned, smooth skin when he moved.

The smile faded when Dean actually got the shirt off and threw it onto the floor. This was the first time Sam had seen all the bruising down his left side - his upper arm, shoulder and ribs were all a mottled mess of purple and yellow bruises, and it looked painful. Suddenly, he felt really bad for pushing him into the wall earlier.

There was also a fresh, pink scar on his left flank that Sam hadn't seen before. It was just above the level of his navel - another couple of inches to the left and the knife would have missed completely. Conversely, another couple of inches to the right and Dean might not be here right now.

"What's this?" Sam reached out and traced the two-inch scar. It was firm and slightly raised under his fingertip.

"Mishap on a hunt a couple of months before Dad went missing. Ghoul didn't take kindly to me trying to behead it." Dean told him, and Sam heard the tension in his voice. He knew without having to ask that this was the injury Dean had needed the Percocet for.

"Looks nasty."

"Sam, are my scars  _really_  what you want to be concentrating on right now?"

They weren't. Sam reached up and grabbed the amulet around his brother's neck and pulled Dean back down on top of him.

There were plenty of things Dean was good at. He had a gift with weapons - Sam had seen him make shots Annie Oakley would be proud of - and he understood cars like a bird understands flight. He'd resurrected the Impala on the side of the road more than once with nothing more than gaffer tape and a Swiss Army knife. But Dean's real talent, Sam decided then, was sex.

Sam always knew there must be a reason girls kept falling all over his brother, but all those years of practice with girl after girl, night after night, all over the country, meant Dean was… well,  _amazing_. And it wasn't just the fact Sam had been waiting for this his entire adult life. Even given just that, it would have been awesome.

Dean knew exactly what to do. Where to put his hands, just how hard to bite… and it was slower and more gentle than Sam expected, too. He'd always imagined Dean to be as enthusiastic in bed as he was in everyday life, so was pleasantly surprised when he drew it out.

To Sam, it felt like they made out forever. It wasn't that he minded all the kissing; he could happily kiss those lips for hours. And he fully intended to, at some point in the very near future. But Dean's mouth wasn't the only place he wanted to explore, and he had to bite that soft, silky lower lip a few times before his big brother got the message.

Dean sat up a little, still straddling Sam's hips, with one hand either side of his shoulders supporting his weight. "Make up your mind, Sammy - do you want me to kiss you or not?" he asked, a wicked little smile on his face.

Sam didn't reply - he just tipped Dean off him, onto his back, and knelt over his thighs. Dean sucked in a quick breath as he ran a hand slowly over that tantalising bulge in the front, then grabbed two handfuls of the bedspread as Sam popped the button on his fly.

Sam remembered that feeling. Making out was one thing, but this was the point of no return. Dean knew what was coming next, and as soon as his little brother touched him like that, it became  _real_.

He watched Dean's face as he peeled those skin-tight Levi's off, and the eldest Winchester saw it. "I'm not going anywhere." Dean assured him, smiling. It was a shaky smile, but Sam was pleased to see it was genuine.

"I can see that." He stroked a finger along the length of the erection straining against his brother's black cotton boxer-briefs, and heard Dean exhale haltingly. He'd been hard since about 30 seconds after Sam sat next to him on the couch.

He hooked a finger under the waistband on either side of Dean's hips and pulled, drawing the shorts down, and threw them onto the floor. He knelt between Dean's knees, and laid a trail of kisses down his neck, across his chest, and over his stomach, listening to his big brother's breathing quicken as he worked his way down. Dean lifted his head off the bed to watch what happened next. After all these years imagining it, he needed to  _see_.

Sam wrapped a hand around the base, pushing his pelvis down onto the bed, and kept his eyes on Dean's as he took the hot, hard head into his mouth.

Every muscle in the eldest Winchester's body went taut and his eyes fluttered closed when he felt the wet heat of Sam's mouth around him, and he was almost overcome by the desire to roll his hips and force himself deeper into it. Then he did something that threatened to make Sam blow right there: he groaned, and licked those slightly parted, well-kissed lips. In fucking  _slow motion_. From the blissful expression on his face, he might have been licking sugar off them.

Sam was still processing that image when Dean suddenly shoved him off to the side and reversed their positions. He knelt over his little brother, straddling his hips, and Sam watched him dig out a tube of KY from the drawer of his nightstand, closely followed by a foil-wrapped condom.

"You know I'd let you do it raw." Sam breathed, as Dean sat back over his thighs and tore the condom open with his teeth.

"Well you shouldn't." he said, as he rolled it on.

"Why? Because you're a whore?" Sam smiled.

Dean paused to think that over for a second. "Well, yeah." he conceded, with a little smile of his own.

"Now you're  _my_  whore." Sam whispered, still smiling, and Dean leaned forward to kiss him again.

Dean put a hand under Sam's left hip and encouraged him to turn over onto his stomach, but Sam batted it away. Instead, he extricated his legs from under Dean and put one foot on either side so Dean was kneeling between his knees. "I wanna look at you while you're fucking me." Sam told him, and Dean couldn't help but smile. He liked this dirty mouth of Sam's, and kissed it again before he grabbed the tube of lube from the nightstand.

He put some on a couple of fingers on his right hand and kept his eyes on Sam's as he reached down between them, watching them widen a little as Sam felt his finger rubbing gently over that tight ring of muscle down there…

Dean felt him relax after only a few moments, and took that opportunity to slide a finger inside. Sam let out a little mewling cry of pleasure, and Dean gasped as every last drop of blood that wasn't there already tried to cram itself into his cock.

 _God, that_ noise _…!_

Dean heard himself moan a little in response, and slid in a second finger. He watched Sam's eyes flutter closed, then another one of those maddening little moans fell from his lips, and Dean couldn't wait any longer.

He gave his cock a couple of quick strokes with what was left of the KY, then hooked his arms under Sam's legs and pulled him down the bed a little, till his ass was nestled between Dean's thighs. Sam immediately rested his legs over Dean's, his feet almost touching behind his brother.

Dean sat there for a second, stroking his baby brother's thigh, and just savoured the moment. Sam looked so innocent laying there on the bed with his cheeks flushed pink and his well-kissed, puffy lips that Dean had nearly forgotten that this wasn't his first time.

Sam was totally relaxed. Dean could see it in every breath he took, and the way he was draped over him… he was obviously ready. He wanted this. He just lay there looking up at his big brother with dark, half-lidded eyes, waiting for Dean to be ready too.

"Be gentle with me." he said, softly, and Dean's breath caught in his throat. He'd been waiting  _years_  to hear those words come out of his baby brother's mouth.

Dean took a long, halting breath as Sam gazed up at him, pupils blown so wide his hazel eyes almost looked black. He'd never really allowed himself to look before, but Dean had to admit he was gorgeous - and now here he was, laying spread-eagled on the bed like this, stroking his own hard-on while he waited…

Dean leaned over and pressed his lips to Sam's, pushing forward with his hips as he did. There was an instant of resistance, but with a gasp from Sam, it just disappeared.

Sam let out a long, low groan as he arched his back up off the bed, a mixture of pleasure and pain - by far the sexiest sound Dean had ever heard. Everything went kind of hazy then, and Dean let his forehead rest against Sam's as he stopped to take a few breaths.

His arms were shaking as he held himself over his baby brother, taking in the moment. He felt Sam sucking in quick, panting breaths of his own beneath him, and kissed him gently.

"You good?" he whispered, and Sam made that groaning noise again as Dean moved inside him. "Fuck, Sam, every time you do that it goes straight to my cock." he gasped, and Sam laughed breathlessly.

"'m great." he breathed, and Dean kissed him again. He tried moving some more, but stopped when Sam bit down on his lower lip a little harder than Dean was comfortable with. He opened his eyes, and saw Sam's features drawn tight in pain.

"It hurt?" Dean breathed, brow furrowed with concern, but Sam gave him a little smile.

"Mmm. It's been a while." he sighed - almost  _purred_. "'s good. I like it." he assured his big brother, and Dean felt him relax again.

Sam's body was pressed so tight around him that Dean just knew this  _had_  to hurt. But the thought that he was enjoying the pain… it sent a sadistic little shiver through him he hadn't expected.

 _If Sam's open to a little kink in that department…_   _we_ _could have some_ real _fun with that._

Dean was gentle, just like Sam asked, but this time he didn't stop moving when Sam shut his eyes tight and started taking long, deep breaths. The rest of his baby brother's body was relaxed, and his fingers dug into Dean's thighs as Sam pulled him in closer - he really was enjoying it. He didn't want to stop, so Dean didn't.

It wasn't long before he felt Sam start to stretch out, and his strangled sighs of pain gave way to cries of pleasure. Each thrust drove him back down into the pillows and the soft mattress, even though Dean wasn't being rough with him. Although Sam suspected that if he asked his big brother to do it, Dean would quite happily turn him over, hold him down and fuck his brains out. He intended to do just that in the very near future, but not tonight - he was already going to be sore tomorrow.

 _And besides,_  Sam thought, kissing those silk cushions of lips as Dean moved back and forth inside him,  _the gentle stuff is awesome._

Dean didn't last as long as he wanted - ten years of waiting and the way his brother groaned and keened and moaned his name saw to that. He was almost there when Sam started to reach down between them, and he wordlessly knocked his hand away. Dean almost had what he needed, and now he was going to make sure Sam got it too.

The younger Winchester started to protest, but his frustrated moan was cut short by Dean slipping his own hand in between their hips and wrapping it around Sam's achingly hard cock. He stroked up and down in time with his movements, and it didn't take long.

Dean felt his baby brother trembling as he came. He threw his head back and shut his eyes, every muscle in his body tensed. He was covered in a thin sheen of perspiration, neck muscles stretched taut like steel cables, veins standing out under his skin - and the way he tensed so suddenly, all along Dean's length, sent him over the edge too.

It was without a doubt the best orgasm of Dean's life, and when he finally opened his eyes and looked down at Sam, he was pleased to find it was evidently just as good for him. The younger Winchester's washboard abs were sprinkled liberally with wet, milky white threads, and there were even a few spots on his lips and chin. Just as Sam lifted a hand to wipe them away, Dean leaned over and pressed his mouth to Sam's, catching his brother's bottom lip between his teeth and all but sucking it clean in the hottest kiss Sam had ever gotten in his life.

A small moan escaped his parted lips, and Dean slowly half-kissed/half-licked every last drop of sticky, musky whiteness from his face and neck. Sam could taste it on his tongue when Dean lay on the bed next to him and pulled him into a bear hug. He rested his head in the hollow between Dean's neck and shoulder, and Dean just laid there with his arms around him. They were both all sweaty and sticky, but that didn't matter. Just then, there was nowhere else either Winchester would rather be.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Sam awoke the next morning to find pale, early-spring sunlight streaming in through the windows. He sat up with a groan, stretching his back as he did - it made several hollow  _pops_  as the vertebrae realigned after laying on the slightly-too-soft motel bed. He frowned slightly when he saw the spot beside him was empty.

"Dean?" he called, looking around the room. It was equally empty.

_He goes out before you get up all the time. He's probably just getting coffee or something._

Sam knew that, intellectually. Really he did. But it's hard not to think the worst when the love of your life almost let you go not four days ago.

_And if Dean was going to crack, it would probably after he spent most of last night buried balls-deep in his little brother…_

Sam didn't get time to overthink it any further. Dean chose that moment to come back in the door, with an armful of fresh towels.

"Morning, sunshine." Dean smiled and put the towels down on the kitchen table. "Brought towels. And breakfast." He put a couple of unmarked paper takeaway bags next to them, then came over and gave Sam a good morning kiss.

"You haven't even had a shower yet." Sam observed, with a smile. He could smell last night all over his big brother.

"No, Sammy, I haven't." he replied, grinning. He left Sam sitting on the bed and went into the bathroom, grabbing a towel on the way past. He left the door open behind him, and Sam heard zippers being undone before Dean started the shower.

The message wasn't lost on him. Dean didn't leave the door open while he was in the shower. Ever.

Sam got up and followed Dean into the little motel bathroom. The eldest Winchester was already in the shower, and the bathroom was rapidly filling with steam. Sam couldn't see him through the frosted shower screen, and opened the glass door to find Dean leaning against the back wall of the shower, feet slightly apart and hands flat against the tiles as he stood with his head under the shower rose.

Water cascaded down his back and over that perfect ass, and Sam caught his bottom lip between his teeth. He took a deep breath, tapping his fingers on the aluminium shower frame a few times as he filed that image away for future use, then stepped in behind Dean. He was hard before he even shut the door.

The shower was too small for the pair of them, really. Sam found his chest pressed up against the water-warmed skin of Dean's back, and wound his arms around his brother's midsection - he didn't care that he was going to get his dressings wet. Dean turned his head slightly to the side, and Sam leaned in to kiss those soft lips.

"You know, I had a dream like this once." Dean said quietly, his smile coming through in his voice.

"Are you saying you dream about me?" Sam was smiling too.

"You remember all those wet dreams that annoyed you so much?" Dean replied pointedly, and Sam laughed.

"I started having them after Iowa. Once I knew you were interested in other guys…" Dean trailed off as he felt Sam squeezing him tighter. Dean's ass was pressing right up against his pelvis, trapping his erect penis between them, and Sam was suddenly having trouble concentrating on what his brother was saying.

"If I'd known you were dreaming about _me_ , I wouldn't have woken you up." Sam breathed, and Dean turned around to kiss him with those silky marshmallow lips.

"Let's see if it's better while I'm awake." he suggested, his lips brushing Sam's as he spoke. The younger Winchester felt Dean's own hard-on pressing against his abdomen as he pushed in closer, and his eyes fluttered closed when Dean's hand closed around them both. He stroked up and down a few times, agonisingly slowly, and muffled Sam's low groan with a kiss.

They didn't bother drying off. Dean turned the shower off and led his little brother out to the bed, but this time it was Sam who pushed  _him_  down onto the comforter and climbed on top, straddling his thighs. The message was clear - Sam wanted to be on top this time.

"Really, Sammy?" Dean groaned, but Sam just smiled and pushed his damp hair out of his face before he leaned over to continue the kiss.

"I'll be gentle." he whispered back, opening his eyes to look into Dean's green ones.

"You better frigging be." Dean was smiling, but his eyes were serious. "In case you haven't noticed, this is going to be kind of a tight fit." He reached out and stroked his thumb over the head of Sam's larger-than-average cock, and he groaned.

When Sam grasped Dean by the right shoulder and turned him over, he tried to stay relaxed. He really did. He knew Sam was going to do his level best to make this as painless as possible, but in the back of his mind, he remembered the first time he tried it - in a pay-by-the-hour motel, with a stranger that didn't really care if it hurt or not.

From his position astride Dean's hamstrings, Sam could feel the tension in his body. The big muscles across his shoulders were tight and hard, and he was taking deep, calming breaths.

 _This must be what I looked like to Tyler,_  Sam thought, as he chewed thoughtfully on his bottom lip. He didn't say anything - Dean wasn't going to back out, and Sam was well aware he didn't  _want_  to be so tense. More talking wasn't going to help, and if his first experience at this had been as underwhelming as he'd said, Sam couldn't blame him for being anxious. But he  _could_  show Dean how good it could be.

The younger Winchester decided to take a leaf out of Tyler's book, and reached out and put one hand on each of Dean's shoulders. He gripped the big trapezius muscle on either side of his neck and started massaging the tension out of him, working steadily down his back. It didn't take long after he felt Sam's hands on his back for Dean's anxiety to start melting away.

Sam took one hand away then, leaving the other to rub slowly up and down the middle of his back, and the eldest Winchester gasped when he felt a finger trail down beyond the end of his spine, between the globes of his ass. It stroked back and forth a few times, gently, and it felt  _so_  much better than Dean ever expected.

It was a simple thing, but that random guy in that random motel room had never taken the time to try and make Dean feel good before he climbed on top of him. Dean had always known Sam would be better at it, just because he cared - he would want his lover to feel as good as he did. Which is why Dean found himself smiling when he heard the sound of tearing foil as Sam opened the condom, and the  _snap_  of the lid on the lube as he flicked it open.

He exhaled slowly as Sam leaned down over him, pressing his body to Dean's back and kissing the back of his neck. He felt Sam rolling his hips, and something bigger and harder than a finger stroking up and down over his ass.

"You want me to start with a finger?" Sam breathed, his lips only centimetres from Dean's ear. His older brother shook his head ever so slightly, eyes closed, and Sam frowned slightly.

"Fingers aren't going to help with that telephone pole of yours." Dean whispered, a smile touching the corner of his lips. Sam rolled his eyes, and gave Dean a soft nip on the back of his shoulder before he sat up again.

Just like he promised, Sam did his best to make it easy on Dean. He applied more lube than he usually would, put one hand on each hip and positioned his brother exactly where he wanted him, but there was only so much he could do. When he started to press forward and Dean's body finally opened up and let him in, it was tight enough that the pressure on his cock as it slid inside actually made Sam see stars. It was  _amazing_ , and it took him a few seconds to register the low groan of pain from beneath him and realise that as good as this felt to him, for Dean it must hurt like hell.

Dean had his face buried in the pillow, and his hands were wound tight into the sheets. He was taking deep, harsh breaths, and all but chewing on his lower lip. Sam just had to wait, rhythmically massaging Dean's lower back while he slowly pushed further inside and Dean stretched out around him.

It took a couple of minutes for him to loosen up enough for Sam to start moving, and a few more after that for Dean to actually start enjoying it, and despite Sam's best efforts he came well before his big brother even got close. He didn't want to leave Dean hanging, though, so Sam turned him over onto his back, and knelt between his knees.

"You know, I've never had a blowjob from a guy before." he breathed, watching Sam tie off the end of his condom and toss it into a nearby wastebasket.

"You've never had a blowjob like this, period." Sam told him, a confident little smile on his face.

"I don't know, Sammy - you've got some pretty stiff competition, so to speak. I've known a lot of girls with some very cool skills." Dean replied, eyes sparkling. "But hey, the doctor says you need protein." he quipped, putting an arm behind his head and smiling up at Sam.

"What makes you think I swallow?" he asked innocently, smiling back.

"Just a feeling." Dean's smile turned into a grin, and Sam leaned down and placed a kiss on those smiling lips before he got down to business.

Sam was well aware that Dean was watching him, so he quite deliberately took his time. He kissed and licked and even nipped, but while his mouth never lost contact with Dean's skin, he managed to avoid actually putting anything in his mouth for nearly a full minute.

By this point Dean was so hard it actually hurt, and was ready to throttle his little brother. "Sam, I swear to God, if you don't get on with it…" he groaned, more out of frustration than pleasure. It was then that Sam leaned forward and swallowed him down, all at once, without even a word of warning.

"Oh, fuck, Sam!" Dean gasped, throwing his head back against the pillow. Sam's nose was touching the skin of his abdomen, but he was still making that swallowing motion with his throat and  _holy shit_  it was good. His little brother was  _talented_!

The few minutes that followed were by far the best blowjob Dean had ever gotten in his life, bar none. He couldn't even think straight to form the words to say it out loud. His vocabulary was reduced to a series of moans and his little brother's name, and all he could do was rest a hand on the back of Sam's head and stroke his hair.

Sam felt it when Dean was about to come - his whole body tensed and his breath caught in his throat, and Sam opened his eyes to watch his big brother's face. His features tightened briefly and he sucked in a quick, gasping breath, and arched his back off the bed as Sam swallowed him all the way down again, just as he came.

Dean had never come that hard in his life. It felt like it went on forever. But Sam swallowed every last drop, just as he suspected, and spent a good 30 seconds slowly and thoroughly sucking his exquisitely sensitive cock absolutely clean before he sat up. Dean had never felt the need to hug a girl after she'd blown him, but when Sam was done, he pulled his baby brother down beside him and held him there while he caught his breath.

"I've gotta say, Sammy, I'm impressed. Where the hell did you learn to do that?" Dean asked, between breaths.

"Guys give the best blowjobs, Dean." Sam replied simply, smiling as he looked at his big brother. His cheeks were flushed, he was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and there was a lazy little smile on his face that Sam only ever usually saw when after a night with a particularly talented conquest (or two). It felt good to know he'd put it there.

"Well, if I'd known you could do  _that_ …" His tone was light, but Dean wasn't joking. If he'd known how much chemistry there'd be between them, and how _right_  it would feel to be lying in bed with his little brother in his arms, he wouldn't have waited this long. As far as he was concerned, nothing that felt this good could possibly be wrong.

"So, now you've tried it twice. Was it better this time?" Sam asked, and Dean sighed contentedly.

"That was awesome, Sammy. Exactly how I wanted it to be." he replied, hugging Sam a little tighter. "Plus, I think I know what the problem was that first time." he went on, letting his head fall to the side as Sam started kissing the pulse at the base of his neck.

"Mmm?" Sam murmured inquiringly, sucking a bruise into the hot, salty skin of his brother's throat.

"I only ever wanted to do this with you."

Dean felt Sam's lips curl up into a smile, and gasped when he nipped gently at his bruised neck. "If you're not careful, I'll bite you back." he warned, but Sam just laughed.

"Punishments aren't supposed to be fun, Dean."

Dean released his hold on his little brother and gave him a shove, pushing him over onto his back. "You're a smartass, you know that?" Dean gave him another kiss and sat up, stretching. Sam tucked one arm under his head and just smiled as he watched him climb out of bed - he was somewhat ginger about it, but trying not to let it show.

"I can't imagine where I got that from." Sam smiled innocently, eyes sparkling as he watched Dean pad over to the kitchen and pour a cup of coffee. He poured one for Sam, too, and looked on admiringly as the younger Winchester came over to get it.

"You know, I don't think we need to do laundry. I just want you to walk around naked all the time." Dean suggested, peering at Sam over the rim of his coffee cup. Sam couldn't see the smile on his face, but he heard it in his voice.

"We'd have to do less laundry if we only wore clothes in public." Sam agreed.

"Although we'd never get any work done, because I'd be fucking you senseless every other hour." Dean pointed out. He wasn't entirely joking.

"Well I'd better have a shower while I have a chance!" Sam grinned and drained his coffee cup, and Dean leaned back against the kitchen bench and watched him collect his clothes and head into the bathroom.

When Sam got out of the shower, he found Dean dressed - in those maddening Levi's again - and packing just about every garment they owned into a couple of duffel bags. One of the paper takeaway bags was open on its side on the table, and Dean was just finishing the last of his bagel.

"So I'm gonna head down the road and do this laundry. You want anything before I go?" Dean asked, going over to the kitchen sink. He dragged his charcoal jacket out of the water and wrung it out a little before throwing it into the second, less-overcrowded bag. It didn't escape Sam's notice that the water he squeezed out was rosy red.

"I think I'll go with you. It'll be nice to get out and about." Sam reflected for a second on how sad it was that 'out and about' meant the laundromat, and the smile on Dean's face told him he found it amusing too.

"You sure you don't wanna stay here and rest?" he asked, but Sam shook his head.

"It's the laundromat, Dean, not Disneyland. I'll cope." he smiled, and Dean gave him a smile back. He threw on some shoes and a hoodie, grabbed his breakfast, and followed Dean out the front door.

The local laundromat was more crowded than Sam expected. There must have been ten or twelve other people there, sitting around on the wooden benches and padded metal chairs while their washing machines or dryers were running nearby.

There was nothing particularly interesting about the laundromat itself, Sam noted as he sat on a wooden bench of his own. Off-white walls, slate-grey imitation-tile linoleum floor, fluorescent lights, a mix of white and tan-coloured industrial washers and dryers. This meant that the only interesting thing Sam had to look at over his breakfast was Dean, loading two washers with their light and dark laundry respectively, still wearing those ancient Levi's. Bent over at the waist like this, his ass looked even more perfect than usual.

Dean noticed Sam watching him, and there was a little smile on his face as he turned the washers on and sat (gingerly) beside his baby brother. Sam was smiling too, eyes on his fruit salad.

As he watched Sam spear chunks of fruit with the little plastic fork, Dean was struck by the change in him. Even lethargic and beaten-up like this, he was brighter than he'd been since… well, since Dean could remember. Sam had been miserable before he left for Stanford, and even before that. At least now he knew  _why_.

If he was honest, Dean was glad Sam went to Stanford. He had a chance to live a little, and even after his taste of life on the outside, he still came back. And now that he had him, Dean wasn't about to let go - he had  _no_  idea how they were going to tell John, but he was going to work it out. For Sam, he'd find a way.

"Penny for your thoughts." Sam looked over at Dean, eyebrows raised. He'd noticed the serious expression on his big brother's face.

Dean sighed. "I was just wondering what we're going to do about Dad." he confessed.

Sam frowned, thinking about that. "What the hell  _are_  we gonna tell Dad?" he mused, watching Dean's charcoal jacket spinning in the washer in front of him.

"Well, we can't tell him the truth." Dean said, sounding much more decisive than he looked. "Can we?" He looked uncertainly over at Sam, who shrugged.

"You really wanna tell Dad that I tried to kill myself because I was in love with you and you rejected me, but you then changed your mind, and now we're sleeping together?" Sam wasn't keen on that idea, and it showed in his voice.

"Well, when you put it like _that_ …" Dean sighed again. That sounded ridiculous.

"What if we did? What do you think he'd do?" Sam asked.

"I don't think he'd pull out his rainbow scarf and make us tea and biscuits, Sam." Dean replied, drily.

"You think he'd disown us?" Sam's eyes went wide, and he sounded like he believed that might actually happen.

"Christ, I don't know." Dean started to chew on his bottom lip, but it was still a little tender from the night before and he winced. "I think we've gotta tell him. We can't keep a secret like this - he'll figure out we're hiding something, and it'll be worse if he doesn't find out from us." Dean might not be able to predict what John's reaction would be, but there was one thing he knew for damn sure: Papa Winchester  _was_  going to find out.

"Dean, if he doesn't take it well…" Sam stopped short of actually saying it out loud, but they were both thinking it; John tended to get violent when he was angry. Dean shuddered as he remembered his dad pointing his loaded, cocked shotgun at Bobby Singer, and  _meaning_  it.

"If it comes to that, Sammy, we'll just have to hit the road." This time, Dean looked as confident as he sounded.

"You'd turn your back on Dad?" Sam asked, somewhat surprised that Dean was willing to abandon their father. He was all too aware that his big brother idolised that man.

"You think I'm gonna let you go  _now_ , after everything we just went through?" Dean tried to smile, but it didn't quite touch his eyes. "Look, if Dad doesn't want us around after we tell him, then you, me and Baby are just gonna have to make it on our own. I'm not leaving you." he continued, and smiled when Sam leaned over and kissed him in reply. Now that they'd got this far, there was no way in hell Dean was going to give it up. Not for John - not for  _anybody_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So glad to finally be able to post this! I've been working on it for so long that I've lost all perspective, so you're all going to have to review and tell me what it's like. ;)  
> Now, off to begin that sequel...


End file.
